


Red

by orphan_account



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Grelliam, I promise, Multi, eventually, minor original characters, my main purpose is to follow the canon as closely as possible, none that impact the plot, this is the backstory Grell Sutcliff deserves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-06 11:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 54,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1857165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of the life of Grell Sutcliff, from birth, to death, to immortal grim reaper. I record this in her honor, for I cannot imagine any other way to better preserve her story. Her experiences are tragic and unforgiving, but spotted through with moments of pure joy. This is life, and her story rings clear with loss, laughter, and love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red at Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fanfic that I've been working on for waaaaay too much of my life. I really hope you all like it, and as I post chapters I hope I get some helpful feedback!

There is a fact of life so vital to humanity and so evident in all fields of history that it is the sole cause of all strife in the world. This is the gross, constant, and unconquerable intolerance of the human race. Throughout all of literature and history it is evident, and seems to resonate through our universe as a constant reminder of our regrettable pigheadedness.

This particular novella has a scope not so broad, yet a message just as profound and perchance just as riveting. This is the story of a woman.

It should be made clear that this woman is someone familiar to you. She is, unless I miss my guess, known to you and yet still inconceivably strange and complex.

Her story is here recorded because she is a part of my life, an essential part that I wish to immortalize forever.

It all begins a far cry from today, in a time ruled by Great Britain before she was defeated at the hands of angry colonists and their cries for justice. It was a time before the great emergence of industry and the rule of Queen Victoria. It was a time when London was growing larger and sprawling out ever farther to accommodate the growing population. The story does not begin in a lovely manor by the rolling moors, nor in a townhouse in the center of the city. Rather, it begins in the slums inhabited by primarily German immigrants. There was precious little space and precious little money, due to precious little work to be found.

A man by the name of Charles Sutcliff had taken up residence in these slums with his wife, Liesel, who had sailed over to England in the year 1701 from her home country of Germany. Charles made his living by tending to the stables owned by a wealthy earl who lived in a manor house far west of the city. It often took him upwards of two hours either way simply to travel so far across the city, and when combined with his insufferably long hours, it was not unusual for him to leave as the sky was just lightening and return when it was darkening.

His wife often berated him for keeping his stable job, and she would often say to him, in her broken English smattered with German phrases,

"Liebling, do not work so hard! I had rather we miss the rent than be alone so very often, warum willst du nicht auf mich hören?"

As luck would have it, when winter drew slowly to a close and they had still managed to make their payments and manage to save enough for food with a bit left over, Liesel discovered she was with child. This meant, regrettably, that while within time she would no longer be quite so lonely, Charles would have to work harder and longer in order to provide for his growing family.

Thus, Liesel spent her days working as well in the belief that their child should not have to feel poverty quite as badly as she and her husband had. She would often gather old bits of clothing from the neighbors who could no longer use such scraps. Then she would unravel the meager pieces and use the thread to weave blankets, which she would then sell for a few shillings on the side of the street. They were neither warm nor attractive, but for the price, they provided something for the even more wretchedly poor of the city, and of course they were able to earn Liesel a slightly substantial amount of money.

After several months of this, and as summer was flaring up in a bright wave of heat, and as July began, she gave birth to a child, a boy. Fitting to the time of year, the child had hair of a bright red color that had disturbed the midwife to no end, who had at first fretted, thinking that the newborn's hair had been somehow stained with blood.

The baby itself rarely cried and smiled frequently, making small chortling sounds not two months after birth. Charles expressed something close to fear when he saw the child's hair, but soon grew accustomed to it and began to love his son as any parent would. There was significant disagreement among Charles and Liesel in regard to their son's name. Charles wished to name him James, after his grandfather, but Liesel was in favor of something she felt more fitting to their son's laughing personality and fiery hair. It was not even a name, as Charles would often protest, but Liesel managed in the end to convince him. She called her son by the name of Grell. It was a German word, an adjective, meaning dazzling or garish, and sometimes shrieking, depending on the context.

And so he was Grell. When Liesel looked at his face and cooed the name, he would always offer up one of his frequent smiles and occasionally let out one of those light, musical baby laughs.

As her child grew, Liesel began to notice peculiar qualities about her son. He showed absolutely no interest in observing the other muddied children running around out of doors and throwing rocks at the stray cats that scurried by. Rather, he seemed fascinated with his mother and the clothes that she wore. When he began to talk and wander about on his own, his hair had grown quite down to his shoulders, and every time she would attempt to cut it, he would try to slap away her hands and often repeated the words "No!" and "Schön!", which is the German word for that which is pretty or attractive.

It was when he reached five years old and had still refused to let her cut his hair, and had begun protesting if Liesel did not use feminine pronouns when speaking to him in German, that she decided to ask Charles if he believed anything was wrong with their son. Their conversation, which I was told went something like this, writes as follows.

"He is...too weiblich, do you not think?" Liesel said with a small frown on her face. "This is not normal and I see no way to correct such a thing."

Charles made a similarly disdainful facial expression.

"He is strange, certainly. It is by no reason in heaven that he is so confused. I do not know for certain if it is our fault in raising him or if it is his own fate."

"We cannot simply allow it to go on like this...it will be seen abnormally. He refers to himself as a girl...perhaps it is time to begin doing so as well. It will be difficult to see a difference," Liesel frowned.

Charles looked down.

"Very well. I suppose it's all for the best...she will be happier, anyhow."

Grell had been listening at the bottom of her bedroom door, and upon hearing the last sentence, smiled widely and flicked a long strand of fiery hair behind her head.

"Ich liebe euch, Mutter und Vater," she said softly, in her childishly happy voice.


	2. Red in the Morning

It is now that you have recognized who this woman is. You think, perhaps, that I am someone who knew her on a personal level. I would like to state that this is true, but rather I am writing this as someone who only wishes they could have known her and understood her every thought. Instead, I must write this in a cold, apart fashion that leaves me empty inside myself, wishing that somehow I was able to feel what she had felt and in what circumstances. I can listen to her recount her life, at least that which she remembers, and I can insert adjectives to lead it in a more pleasing direction, but I cannot in any way force you, reader, or myself, to feel what she has felt in her life.

Some years after Grell's parents became accepting of her obvious gender mentality, in the year which I suppose was close to 1726, and a few months before her twentieth birthday, Charles Sutcliff faced one of those horrid accidents suffered by many people in many fields that one always hears about but never supposes will affect them. He was, while grooming one of the horses in his employer's stables, down on all fours in an attempt to locate the brush he had dropped when the horse started and kicked him squarely in the back of the head. He fell unconscious and was not found until much later in the evening by another servant.

In the months that followed, Liesel was inconsolable, even by her daughter, and fell into a depression, eventually simply taking to her bed. Grell became exceedingly tight-lipped about everything that was going on, refusing to answer the neighbors' queries about her mother's well-being.

Eventually, when it was near about a week short of the start of July, Liesel was able to speak intelligently on the matter of what was to become of her small, broken family now that there was no reasonable source of income.

Grell informed her mother, rather shortly, that she had been offered maid's work at the manor house where Charles had been previously employed.

"Liebling, I know you think that's quite enough to keep us out of debt, but it simply is not. We must come into money before we are turned out into the streets," Liesel said, frowning.

"It's not nearly as simple as that, and I'm not a fool enough to think that we'll come about an unprecedented windfall of sorts, Mother. I would much rather work for our money. Cleaning is easy and painless and generally expected of girls," Grell frowned.

"You are not a normal girl, Grell. It would be very dangerous if anyone were to discover that," Liesel frowned more deeply. "Your father specifically told me that we can never allow anyone in any circumstances to know that you were not born this way."

Grell glared at her mother. This was one of the primary things that they argued over. She believed, far too much, as she would later say, in the benevolence of humanity. She had no experience with cruelty from humans and at this point, the only enemy she knew was a horse. She loved her mother, certainly, but could not help but wish to branch away.

"You must be married," Liesel stated, and Grell opened her eyes incredulously.

"Did you not just say that no one can ever know?" She replied with a hint of disdain in her voice.

"Yes, and no one ever will. Your father had a few friends, some of which are well off and some of which are now in the poor house. One of them, a professor at Cambridge, has a son whom is willing to marry you. However, I am told that he is entirely studious and stoic and entertains no notion of having a family, as he is too busy studying to become a professor of literature. This is the perfect situation for you, liebling," Liesel smiled widely and folded her hands on her lap as though expecting her daughter to fling her arms around her.

Grell's lips tightened and she remained silent for several seconds.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then we will be in the poor house, because I will not allow you to work."

The silence dragged on.

"At least meet the father, liebling, because I daresay the son will say nothing to you," Liesel frowned.

"Very well...I do of course wish to help you as much as I can…" Grell replied bitterly. She was trying desperately to think of a way to avoid this undesirable turn of events, but after some time of her thoughts running circles around one another, she accepted her defeat. She would marry this literature student and save her mother from the streets.

Theodore Spears was the most valued professor at Cambridge University, or at least this was what he had come to believe. He was a large man with a scarce amount of neck who studied the organization of animals. He would often say to those who knew him that while others knew how to measure triangles and track planets, he could tell you which animals belonged in which species and nearly all their Latin names, and as he continued in his speech, he would state that while triangles are all well and good, animals are far more relevant, as you will never encounter a triangle in the wild. It was in this train of thought, and his generally pompous air, that he became the sort of person in the workplace that no one wishes to speak to, lest they have their profession invalidated by statements that make no sense.

His son, William, was a relatively tall man who wore a pair of neatly aligned spectacles and walked with shoulders upright at all times. This man, of about twenty-two years of age, was ridiculously stoic, reaching an almost comedic point. He showed emotion at nothing and prioritized his literary studies ahead of all else. He rarely spoke unless to make an obnoxious hissing sound at anyone who disturbed the quiet of his office space. He was, in general, the sort of person that you would be unfortunate to meet if you were seeking compassion or even an emotional reaction. To put it bluntly, he was the most self-absorbed, entirely oblivious little cold-hearted twit that you could ever come across.

These were the two men that Liesel and Grell had planned to meet with at Theodore's university office on this particular Tuesday afternoon on the first of July. Grell spoke to her mother for the first time in several hours as they were walking briskly across the extensive lawns of the university.

"I don't suppose there's any way that I could simply beg for a few shillings on the street to get us by, is there?" Grell remarked sarcastically and with a tinge of bitterness.

"No," her mother said with simple finality. "You will meet, you will marry, and we will be reasonably comfortable for the remainder of life."

At that, Grell let out a small noise of discontent.

"I suppose this is the thanks I receive for helping you correct your English…" she muttered bitterly.

As they carried on their long walk, they approached the door to Theodore Spears's building. As they entered, Liesel began fumbling in her pockets for the scrap of paper upon which she had written his room number. She managed with some difficulty to locate it and examine the number forty-two scrawled messily on the sheet. They proceeded up the staircase until reaching the hall that began with the number thirty-nine and increased to the left of the corridor. With not much more difficulty, they reached the appropriate room and Liesel knocked briskly upon the oak door.

It was answered by the corpulent Professor Spears, who broke into a cheery grin.

"Welcome! Indeed, welcome, please sit down, you must be Liesel and Grell Sutcliff. I must say, when I first saw you I mistook you for sisters!" he chortled loudly.

Grell smiled and winced simultaneously in obvious discomfort. However, Liesel smiled widely and laughed musically in response.

"Good day to you, Professor Spears, I do hope I find you well today," she made a slight bowing motion to him.

"As well as can be, this very morning I gave what I believe to be the defining lecture of my teaching career. It was absolutely brilliant, and executed perfectly of course. You see, on my most recent voyage to the north, I happened to-"

As he droned on, Grell's eyes began to wonder and her falsely pleasant expression faltered. She noticed an impressive collection of pinned butterflies in a case displayed proudly above his desk and internally gagged upon seeing a particularly large red one pinned up in the center of the display. It so happened that within this office, William Spears was also sitting inconspicuously in the corner. Grell toyed with the idea of going up to him and attempting to strike up a conversation, but as soon as she took a step forward his head shot up and his eyebrows narrowed over thinly lidded eyes.

"Don't speak to me. I'm working," he said coldly. "Perhaps you don't know what that is, seeing as you have to marry me to earn money."

Grell immediately began gasping for air. Her mother had warned her of this little twit's bitterness and general dislike for human conversation, but she had no idea it would be to this extent.

"Excuse me, sir," she said acidly. "I will not be told by some pseudo-intellectual prick when I can and cannot speak, and I will certainly not have my work ethic insulted by someone whose only income is provided by a father who seeks enjoyment in stabbing small metal objects into insects and then bragging about it."

William Spears merely narrowed his eyes at her once again and returned to his book, leaving Grell in a state of boiling, nearly overflowing rage. Meanwhile, Liesel had managed to charm her way into a set marriage date.

"That's July the seventh, liebling," Liesel said happily to Grell.

"What is?" Grell snapped back.

"Your wedding, liebling."

The next six days were spent by Grell in complete and utter despondency. She was simultaneously disgusted and terrified at the prospect of having to spend the rest of her life as the silent wife of someone as genuinely bitter and icy as William T. Spears. It was, as she thought while she brushed out her long lycoris-red hair in the mirror, just the way life worked. All she had wanted was to remain in a peaceful, albeit slightly poor lifestyle with the two people she cared about, when lo and behold, her dear, hardworking father died and instead of being consoled and reciprocated for this tragic event, she was forced to marry a twerp. Grell began to braid her hair into a coronet.

I, in fact, am certain that had I been in a similar situation, I would have undoubtedly been justified to act similarly, and knowing Grell as I do, I am rather taken aback by the fact that she neglected to act up more significantly. Perhaps it was only out of love for her mother that she did this, but it is a thing that I cannot imagine her ever choosing to do of her own accord. It is certainly admirable, regardless of the direct motives. She is brave. Braver than I…

Grell slowly pinned the braid in place where it encircled her head and stood up. She was wearing a dress that perhaps was white at some point in its time, but now was more of a slightly dirty tea color. With a sigh, she left the room and slammed the door behind her.

Liesel was waiting outside of the door for her.

She smiled faintly at her daughter and grasped her hand.

"Liebling...I am sorry. Thank you," she said quietly.

Grell looked away from her.

They took a small horse-drawn cart to the chapel slightly down the street and west of their small home. It was the only place they could find to host a brief ceremony for the cost of five pounds. Scarcely clean and poorly lit, it was sufficient and legally binding.

Grell remained silent. She did not notice when Professor Spears and his son entered. She did not notice when she was forced to listen to the drawling priest reciting her vows. She did not notice when she murmured a few words of assent to the words presented to her. She did not even notice when William awkwardly touched his cold, unmoving lips against hers. She hardly noticed when she pulled away, turned on her heel and ran out of the chapel.

She refused to hear anyone who yelled after her. It was imperative that she simply get away. She did not stop running until she reached a shop window on a dingy street.

She remembered thinking at that time, as she later told me, that she honestly believed she was nothing but a hindrance to the continuance of life. She had a husband who would never love her. She was doomed to live with fear that someone would find out what was wrong with her...and here she struggled. She felt that there truly was absolutely nothing wrong with her. She stared at her reflection in the window and pulled out the pins holding her braid up. The long, flowing red hair tumbled down like a wave of blood.

"I am myself...perhaps this is irrelevant to anyone who hears me. But I am myself. I have tried so hard to keep up the image that I am perfect and normal. But I suppose at the end of the day I am not. I will always be seen as an outcast to anyone who knows the truth about me. It is not fair and it will never be fair," she whispered at her reflection, with looked back at her with glazed eyes overflowing with tears. "Perhaps that isn't what's important to me. Perhaps I only think I am silently judged because I feel I am unloved...I am only a means of acquiring money for my mother and to everyone else I am no one. I feel as though I am nothing..."

Grell pulled a shoe from her foot and threw it into the window, smashing it. She watched the glass spiderweb out before shattering on the pavement. Then, as she watched as the fragments lay glittering on the ground. She leaned down to touch one farther out into the street and-

With a crash and a high scream, she saw nothing but blackness, and was left floating with her thoughts in her dying mind.


	3. Red in the Afternoon

The darkness was overwhelming. Grell wanted so badly to cry out or yell, but was entirely incapable of making a sound. The feeling was crushing, as though she couldn't breathe but at the same time had entirely too much in her lungs. She spun around in her own mind in a terrible flood of dizziness and confusion. This was the feeling of death. It is endless, eternal, blackness. I have heard that the longer you retain your thoughts, the more painful it is to go, and I believe it. You must be able to let go of everything and willingly slide into blankness, rather like falling asleep. It will be easier that way. Better to remember your life quickly and sweetly than become carried away with wishing what is gone had lasted longer. Grell did not take too long to overcome this, as she quickly realized she had little to reminisce fondly about.

As she began to fall out of consciousness, there was a sudden light and she saw, blurred but there, a figure hooded in black.

"You have died. Your time on earth is over. I am here to judge you, and having done so, I wish to inform you that you have a choice. Your life was not ideal in any way, but your soul is pure and powerful, and will become more so should you remain alive. You will also become immortal, save for two possible deaths. If you remain dead, you will simply cease to exist and enter the vortex again until you fall asleep," the figure ceased in speaking. "Make your decision."

Grell was uncertain of which way was up and felt extraordinarily confused by the situation. She was essentially being offered immortality, and from the sound of it, there were only two possible catches. Surely an immortal would not have to return to a world of mortals. No more Liesel and no more William was surely a good thing.

"Life...please...I choose life," she murmured faintly.

The figure said nothing more, and with the faintest of flickers, the light changed and suddenly Grell was lying down surrounded by a blank, expansive whiteness. She blinked. The whiteness became a room, still blurred, but with a set existence now. A sudden voice spoke somewhere above her as though disembodied.

"Awake. Dispatching," the voice stated in a cool, female voice with an Estuary English accent.

Grell felt as if she had only blinked once, but within the minuscule instant her eyes were closed, a man dressed in a black suit was standing at the side of the surface she was laying upon. He appeared, though her vision was failing her, to have silvery hair that reached his shoulders. He held a pen and clipboard, and was looking at her expectantly, as though waiting for her to speak.

"Who are you…" she mumbled inarticulately.

He blinked.

"John Smith. My name is John Smith," he replied coolly. "Your full name please."

"Grell Sutcliff…"

"Full name," he said insistently.

"Grell...James Sutcliff," Grell frowned slightly. This was irrelevant. She had been misnamed. It happened.

John Smith made a silent note of this.

"Take these." He outstretched his arm and handed Grell a pair of silver-rimmed, oval spectacles. She put them on and remarkably the entire room became clear.

"You will need glasses from now on. Vision is one of the smaller sacrifices you are required to make. Your eyes will also appear much brighter now," he stated as if he had given this speech countless times and was becoming entirely sick of it.

Grell observed this peculiar man with a sense of apprehension. She was entirely unaware of what this place was, and as she reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear-

There was none. Her hair had been quite unceremoniously chopped off above the shoulder, leaving it jagged and scrappy-looking. She let out a small noise similar to a mouse being trodden on.

"Ah yes. That," he flipped through his notes in a bored manner. "It says here that most of that hair was either clotted with blood by the time you were found, or tangled irreconcilably in the spokes of a carriage wheel. Not that it matters. Such things would not have been permitted at any rate. We have a dress code to maintain, after all. Not that anyone follows it, but nevertheless, it's there and we happen to be the fourteenth most reputable dispatch center in the district."

"How many dispatches are there in this district?" Grell couldn't help but ask.

He frowned. "Fifteen."

She stifled a laugh before realizing there were more relevant questions to be asking.

"What exactly...is this? What am I?" She asked in discomfort, realizing that her head was spinning incessantly even though she was lying down.

"An immortal grim reaper. For some reason we of the committee decided your soul was valuable, and when you died, instead of collecting your soul, we kept it in your body and restored you to a nearly invincible level. That is what my job is, and your job is to enter the Academy and prove that we did not make a grievous mistake," he said, again as though it were part of an informative demonstration he had performed one too many times. "You will be issued a uniform when you are fully rested. Training lasts for three weeks, after which you are assigned partners based on cumulative scores and sent out on a cooperative field assessment."

He turned and was about to leave when he started as if he had recalled something.

"There was another point I was supposed to mention...oh. If you happen to see anyone you know here...or rather, anyone you think you know, don't bother trying to remind them. Most of them scarcely know their names. The process takes a great deal out of some people," he chuckled slightly, almost a cackle, and left the room.

Grell was left with her thoughts. She attempted to sit up and found that her head was being pounded upon by iron fists. Attempting to bear with it, she remained in the position until it subsided. She was lying upon some sort of pristinely white and incredibly uncomfortable cot. Next to her was a book entitled The Grim Reaper's Legal and Informational Handbook. She began to thumb through it, but struggled with focusing her eyes on the words.

"The General Laws Regarding Existence of Higher Judgement: A Summary."

This was the title of the first chapter, which primarily reiterated what John Smith had already told her, and the only noticeable difference was the absence of a bored tone and the inclusion of ludicrously flowery language. She skimmed the pages until her eyes fell upon the words, "The Possibility of Death". Intrigued, she began to focus on the words despite her consistent headache.

"Life is short unless immortality is in place, as it is now for you. Immortality means that barring unforeseen circumstances, you will be entirely capable of living forever. There is no old age among the grim reapers. The way you appear today will most likely carry on for the remainder of your potentially infinite life.

"However, there is the possibility for all things to end. There are two ways to certainly lead to the death of an otherwise immortal. The first being by death scythe. A grim reaper can only be killed by a weapon such as this. It does not have to be any specific scythe, but it is imperative that it strike them through the heart. If this qualification is not met, only minor scarring will appear. The second way is perhaps more complex. It is an illness. An illness of the heart, which we call, for lack of a better term, the Thorns of Death. It is the rarest of cases regarding grim reaper cause is essentially the overpowering thirst not to die and to overcome death at every turn. This is not to be confused with the will to live instilled in all beings, but is rather manifested as the vengeful hatred of death. There must be some degree of acceptance of death and its inevitability. One may refer to it as ironic, but the fact remains that acceptance of death results in miraculously long life."

It was here that Grell stopped reading and closed the book. She did not pretend to understand everything mentioned in it, nor did she pretend to feel in any way rejuvenated by her new knowledge. It was, however, dulling her thoughts and allowing her to feel a sense of rest. She vaguely began to ponder how one could ever be taught to judge a soul...was a soul a book? Could it be perused at leisure by an impartial judge who did not care what happiness and accomplishment someone had felt in their lifetime? It did not seem to her by any means that this was fair. Of course, she herself had been examined this way, by someone who did not know anything of her as a human, only as a random assortment of life experiences.

She began to ponder as well what John Smith had stated regarding other people. What sort was he discussing? Surely no one she knew could in fact be present at this very place. Her father...perhaps, but it felt unlikely to her. He was not the sort of man to seek after an eternal life. He had been happy enough with what he had lived in his own time. Aside from him, there was no one else she knew of who had died.

Here I pity Grell. She has been torn away from her life and is now realizing she is truly alone. There is no one she can see again from that past slum life, and regardless of how she felt about it, it was clearly the only home and family she knew.

It is a sad state of affairs, and one I feel I did nothing to help.


	4. Red in the Evening

Within seventeen hours, there is a great deal that can occur. For example, it takes approximately seventeen hours for a human being to develop a new pancreas lining. It takes slightly less than seventeen hours for the monarch butterfly to break from its cocoon. It took precisely seventeen hours for Grell Sutcliff to wake up and realize that her mouth was overpowered by a metallic, coppery taste that was turning her stomach in knots. She winced and, hunching over slightly, walked over to a small sink in the corner of the room and vomited blood. This made her feel slightly less nauseated, and as she splashed some water on her face and in her mouth, she felt her tongue burn slightly. There was no mirror, so she could not directly examine it, but when she reached to her mouth, she was pricked by the point of an excessively sharp tooth. Grell jumped slightly at the pain and cautiously ran her finger along the front of her teeth. They were shaped peculiarly, as if they had been formed into dagger-like little triangles.

Bemused but generally unable to further examine the matter, she sat on the edge of the cot and took note of her surroundings. Realizing the room was less clear than it should have been, she clumsily reached over to the bedside table, noting the glinting silver there. Awkwardly, she pushed the glasses up to her nose and happened to see a typed sheet of paper.

Trainee Grell Sutcliff, it stated in what Grell considered to be a particularly self-absorbed font, When you have awakened, it is requested that you dress in a uniform provided in the box next to the door. Afterwards, proceed to Room 394 for a mandatory meeting detailing training information. Remember, speak to no one who appears familiar. This will be explained at the meeting.

Regards,

John Smith

Grell frowned. She was rather inclined to question anyone named John Smith. It was altogether too predictable of a name in any circumstance. However, she shrugged it off for the time being and set the letter down before striding over to the door to open the white uniform box. Inside was a suit, which she made a face of disgust at and threw it upon the cot. It is reasonable to assume that she would be angered at the requirement that she dress like a man. However, she maintained a firm thought that perhaps this was the dress code for all students, regardless of gender. Despite her self-convincing, she still could not help but wish for stockings and a skirt…

After dressing, she managed to locate a mirror in the room by sliding back a panel that revealed a small closeted area. She looked at her reflection and immediately felt nauseated again.

She was dressed in a dark gray suit that did nothing for her figure, her hair was short and choppy, the glasses were rather poorly made, and she was extremely pale. The contrast with her bright hair was producing a sickening sort of light shining on her face as though it was reflecting off the nearly translucent skin. Cautiously, and with a slight wince, she opened her mouth and shuddered internally. Her teeth were, as she had feared, sharpened to a point and somehow elongated. She swallowed. Her mouth seemed to be structured slightly differently, as if to accommodate her new shark teeth. It was certainly unattractive. She frowned in mild disgust. Grell recalled quite clearly that before her head had been smashed into the ground by a carriage wheel, she had looked at her reflection and certainly not appeared like this.

However, there was one part of her appearance that she quite liked. From behind the rather thin glass framed in silver, her eyes were glowing with an ethereal light. They were a shockingly bright yellow-green, different monumentally from the green-hazel color they once were. This made her smile slightly, though not enough to show her teeth. With one last look at her reflection, she turned and proceeded down the hall.

As she walked, she noticed that things were somewhat more normal outside her cleanly asylum of a room. The floor was black and mildly reflective, and the walls, though still white, were lined with square lamps and dotted every few feet with a numbered door. Room 394 was approximately seventeen doors down from her room, and she opened the door slowly and cautiously.

When she entered, a figure she recognized vaguely as John Smith was standing in front of the room, speaking. She stood off to the side and examined the crowd around her. There was a man who continually scratched the bridge of his nose whilst gazing rapturously at Smith. There was a girl jotting down notes off to the side and glancing up at the clock in evident frustration. (At this point Grell also checked the clock. It was eleven fifty-two. She wondered briefly why a time had not been written on the letter she had received.) And there, sitting in a small desk in the opposite corner of the room was a man with an exceptionally bemused expression, rumpled hair, and a long sheet of notes was-

Grell's heart stopped for a moment. She recognized him as none other than William T. Spears. Certainly he was slightly worse for wear and more out of place than she had seen him previously, but there was no mistaking him. Shock was quickly replaced by anger. How dare this prick, whom she had quite literally died to get away from, have the audacity to die within likely no more than two days of her. It was appalling. Outrageous. Ridiculous. She had to know more.

Sitting through the lecture was tedious, as John Smith explained the function of the death scythe and ledger book utilized by grim reapers in his dull tone of having repeated the same information consistently for all of eternity. Grell may have found it mildly interesting had he not sounded so entirely unenthusiastic. However, she was also distracted by more pressing matters, such as the presence of William. As the (Students? Employees? She had no idea what they were, as she soon realized.) dispersed, she approached William. Yes, it was certainly him. He had the same sharp eyebrows and stone-faced look about him, even if he was considerably less put together.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice becoming rather shrill.

He looked at her with a bemused expression.

"Do I know you?" he asked incredulously.

Grell mirthlessly shrieked a small bout of laughter.

"Know me? Do you know me? You married me, you little-"

At this point she was cut off by John Smith, who hovered over her with a mocking smile on his face that stretched from corner to corner of his mouth, giving an extremely disturbing appearance, especially as his eyes were shadowed by the hair hanging over them.

"Is there, by any chance, a problem, Mister Sutcliff?" he grinned.

Grell was now seething with rage.

"I am not...a mister…" she hissed.

"The transcription of your autopsy begs to differ," Smith howled with laughter.

Grell shot him a look of pure venom, followed by an equally deadly glare directed at William. She was genuinely beginning to hate the very being of this place. She reached out and slapped William across the face before running down the hallway with tears streaming down her face.


	5. Red at Night

She was running through the hallway and back to her room in a state of petrified, horrified shock. There was no other experience in her life that could equal the pain and humiliation she felt, and it seemed to gradually chew away at her. Grell was entirely distraught by the prior proceedings, and made no attempt to conceal it. She managed to run the seventeen doors down to her room, despite being rather weak, and clumsily rushed into her door, slamming it shut behind her.

Grell, unsure what to do and ultimately simply distraught, sat down with tears streaming down her face and recounted what she had done. She had broken the singular rule first told to her, to speak to no one she recognized. It now became apparent why such a rule was in place. They were trying to protect her from unnecessary pain. It was perhaps not William's fault for failing to remember her, and she was not certain as to what she had expected if he had remembered her.

However, I know. She entered that room with an aching longing in her heart to see something familiar in a place where even her own appearance was foreign to her. William T. Spears, though he remained an insufferable prick in her eyes, was something familiar. He was something like a trash can always placed at the corner of a street. Completely useless save for one meager purpose, but that purpose made him there in a way that was somehow rather comforting.

It was at that point when Grell realized that nothing was to be changed or built with her present mentality. It was useless for her to continue assuming honorable intentions from people. No one would ever take her seriously as a trainee, which was evident based on John Smith's reaction to her gender identity, the mere memory of which still filled her with rage. Therefore, it was best to embrace any dignity she had left and be ready to fly with it before dashing it to the ground. This became her singular, indelicately worded mantra which she stood by up to a certain point, and used as an excuse not to look inside herself and remember that she had a heart, a heart that tore apart slightly every day she denied who she was.

Such steps were taken in the three deathly long weeks that followed. She attended classes. She fought with her ethics professor over the value of humans, insisting that there was no value to any of them and that none deserved life. She was glorified and praised from on high by her practical skills and combat instructor, who maintained that she was the best fighter he had seen in his career. Grell appreciated this the most out of all her other experiences in training, as she had found something useful to excel at. The small, shiny wood-handled scythe provided to the trainees became her friend, and represented to her all that she had managed to triumph over, however small that category may have been. And so, it was with artificial confidence induced by praise and denial that she entered the office marked Room 101 for the results of her exam.

As she entered, she stiffened immediately at the sight of a far too familiar face. It was a face she had grown to subconsciously hate as she viewed it from the corner of her eye in all of her training classes, and she denied to admit that she hated the sight of it for no adequate reason.

She walked to the middle of the room silently.

Two men were behind the desk in the room, and the one presently sitting down adjusted his glasses and surveyed Grell with evident distaste.

"Mister Sutcliff," he said in an uptight, self-righteous manner that caused Grell to internally gag. "It has come to the end of your training program and as a result of that, you have been qualified to move on to your final test. Your exam results have determined that you are to be partnered with Mister William T. Spears." He gestured indifferently at the detested figure standing next to Grell.

"Now for the reading of your scores. Grell Sutcliff. You received a triple A in practical skills, a B in written exams, and a C in ethics, giving you an A average," he said, and Grell smirked in a self-satisfied manner.

She then promptly tuned out of the conversation until she heard "B average" and "William T. Spears" in the same sentence.

"What?" she hissed like an angry cat. "I have an A average, how can you possibly pair me with that B average cretin?" She shouted, emphatically gesturing at William, who seemed to prefer to ignore her and focus on adjusting his glasses.

"As you'll recall, Mister Sutcliff," the test initiator emphasized the masculine title, "...the only As you received were in practical skills. You did not fair particularly well on the other portions of the exam, specifically ethics, which is of concern to us."

"I rather think practical skills are the most important thing, don't you?" Grell smirked, choosing to focus on the most pressing problem with her superior's statement. "If you'd like, I can show you my skills personally…" She flipped back her jacket to reveal her dearly beloved scythe.

"Don't be ridiculous, put that away," he said coolly, while the man standing behind him let out a small shriek and held a clipboard in front of his face. "You will be working with Mister Spears, and quite frankly there is no reason for us to change our decision. You are dismissed."

Grell felt a slight mental burning, which she identified as rage and exasperation combined into one disgusting mass of emotion.

She gritted her teeth and turned to William.

"Just don't get in my way," she hissed.

"Right," he made a slight bowing motion as if somehow commanded by her self-endowed authority to do so. "I shall do my utmost. I look forward to working with you."

Grell scoffed and turned her back to him. It was perhaps worse that she had to work with a suck-up than a B average, and combining the two led her to the worst possible testing scenario. She was furious, and seethed inside with irrational hatred for the system and the vague-minded little twerp behind her.


	6. Red at Night II

The sky was a dim shade of blue, as the sun had just set but there was still enough light to see by. It was slightly cloudy, and the atmosphere was wretched and generally detestable to Grell, who surveyed the disappointing scene with binoculars from the rooftop of a brick townhouse. She vaguely noticed a large group of drunk men laughing merrily, unaware of the insignificance of their lives, and she internally winced as a woman tossed a bucket of something she cared not to closely examine out of a window.

"Humans are disgusting…" she muttered. This street was familiar to her, but that did not make it any less detestable. She could see at the end of the road, near the corner, a small, cramped home; a home that she used to live in. It was something that she noticed but chose to ignore, and convinced herself that she did not know this street, even though at any time she expected to see Liesel standing outside. It was some variety of self-brainwashing that took place in a manner of seconds and was over by the time she heard William Spears speak.

"I've found him," he stated in his bland, emotionless way. "That's Thomas Wallis, born in Bristol in 1784. He's an aspiring novelist."

"Novelist, eh?" Grell replied, uninterested. "Probably poor and talentless with no love life to speak of.." She winced slightly as she said this, essentially describing herself. How horrible. She had never expected to be in a position in which she was so much without an existence of her own that she was content to dismiss others so readily. "I suppose this one's cleared for death…" she continued, pulling out a small clipboard that had been provided to her. She froze as it was tugged out of her grasp.

"We should use all the time allotted to us," William Spears stated robotically.

Grell hissed slightly and narrowed her eyes. How dare he question her. He was obviously less intelligent than she, he had no right to assume she was incorrect.

"I see," she grinned, but in a threatening way, with no humor behind it. She vaguely remembered her new, hideous teeth and subconsciously hoped she looked terrifying, or at least revolting. "Mister B average is talking back...how fabulous."

She reached for her little scythe that felt so comfortable in her hand and easily whipped it around where it clanged against William's. She was mildly surprised at his reflexes, but no less dismissive of him. She noticed his arm was shaking and she chuckled at this sign of weakness before flipping around and kicking him squarely in the chest so that he slid backward and slammed with a sickening crack into the smokestack on the roof. She smirked as a trickle of blood traveled down from the corner of his mouth. That had felt good. Immensely good, to finally unleash her rage against him, to see him weak and suffering in front of her. She strode over and grinned down at him with something she equated to an obscene form of happiness.

"Anything else to say?" Grell attempted to restrain a chuckle that was building up in her throat. And still, she noticed as he struggle to open his mouth, he dared to speak to her.

"I just...I believe we should use all the time allotted…" he struggled to speak, choking slightly as more blood ran from his mouth. It was a lovely shade of red, Grell noted, and caught herself. Blood...it was not intended to be beautiful...yet somehow the color was very comforting. She shook slightly, then registered what he had said.

"Fine...do what you like, though it's a bloody waste of both of our time…" she said with a renewal of snarkiness. "What day is the collection..?"

William Spears attempted to straighten his spectacles, which had bent slightly.

"In one month…" he coughed. "December sixteenth at four o'clock in the afternoon…"

Grell turned to look over at the small blond figure in the window that William had pointed out. He was writing methodically and seemed quite happy. How very unfair that he was to die within a month. He had so many hopes and dreams...Grell frowned. She had once had hopes and dreams, but for...him. She shook her head to clear it. No matter. It was a new life now. A new life in the year of-

She started slightly.

"Give me my folder back," she snapped at William, who had managed to crawl away from the wall and was now sitting and rubbing at his bloody jaw. He silently handed her the folder.

Grell's eyes widened as she took note of the date, which she had heard William speak aloud earlier but had assumed it to be a mistake. 1784. But this was Thomas Wallis's birth year. Not even the present year, which was...she checked further down the page...1799. She choked. 1799. It had been, she distinctly remembered, July seventh, 1726, when she had met with her death in the streets of London. It had been over seventy years since she had died...that could not be possible. She looked down her old street. Certainly it was more dilapidated than she had remembered it, but she had thought nothing of that. No matter how long she stood and watched, Liesel would never come out of the door to look around outside before locking up. Her mother was gone, most likely dead for fifty years or more. Everyone she had known in her brief, secluded existence, save for William, was dead.

It was incomprehensible.

Three weeks of training. That was what she had been told. Three weeks. It had felt like three weeks. It had felt as though she had gone to sleep painfully one day and woken up slightly...different. She was shaking and suddenly felt sick. They were all dead. Everyone. Her breath faltered and she clutched at her stomach. She turned and vomited over the rooftop.

It does not need to be explained by me that the next few days were of extreme torture to Grell, who regarded William with something in between need and revulsion. She felt compelled to be near him, as he represented the sole remainder of her past life, but at the same time was increasingly repulsed by his dull nature and methodical handling of life. I can sympathize with such a view, and personally testify that living with a set schedule and an emotionless view of the world leads to little fulfillment. It is one thing to feel satisfaction at the completion of a day's work, but it is altogether another thing to hear the laugh of a child or a voice saying I love you. This is something that he was far from learning.

It was now for three full days that Grell and William had been observing Thomas Wallis with something close to dedication, though Grell often became bored and wandered off frequently to observe other aspects of life. She was continually disturbed and fascinated by the noticeable difference in the world that she had once known so familiarly.

Thomas Wallis was dedicated, hardworking, and passionate about what he was doing with his life, which was a concept foreign to both of the reapers. Grell had viewed her job as something necessary and mildly entertaining, at times feeling incredibly joyful as she watched life tick by without worrying about it affecting her personally. William was hardworking to an extreme sense, but found no joy in the proceedings whatsoever, nor any type of emotion at all.

After one of Grell's frequent wandering moments, she managed to locate William observing Thomas from a tree which offered no camouflage whatsoever. She had purchased an outfit rather more to her liking from one of the shops, but had gotten into a dreadful row with the owner when he had flatly refused to fit her for a dress. So it was that she ended up clothed in a red coat with a showy bow tied round the collar of a dress shirt underneath. It was not perfect, but it was far better than her uniform, and she breathed a sigh of relief at not having to wear black for the time being. She had also observed, with giddy pleasure as she had posed in the reflection of a shop window, that her hair was beginning to grow.

"Hello there," she grinned at William, who immediately frowned and adjusted his glasses.

"What on earth are you wearing?" he asked, frowning with mild disgust. Grell smiled, pleased to have elicited some sort of reaction from him. She waved dismissively.

"Never mind my attire," she said derisively. "Are you ready to stamp his file yet?" Honestly. It was plain to see that this boy had nothing to change the world as far as special talents or brilliant humanitarian efforts. He simply appeared to enjoy writing.

"I've only been at this for three days, a-" William began dryly before Grell cut him off.

"I rather think that's enough, don't you? I'm tired of the human world...I haven't seen a single attractive man here," Grell mused, waving her hand about before vaguely recalling that William most likely had no idea what her sexuality was. She dismissed it as something without a great deal of relevance. "Hurry up and make your decision," she hissed.

"Alright, I will," William stated rather defiantly. Grell turned away before hearing him say,

"Hello, my name is William T. Spears-"

"Ack!" Grell shouted, somewhere in between disbelief and admiration. How very bold. She was becoming rather more impressed by his actions. She no longer purely hated him. It had reached a point of the middle ground between hatred and dignified tolerance. At the very least he was developing a personality.

She watched as William spoke calmly to Thomas and took a stack of papers from him. She wondered vaguely what sort of literature the boy had been writing. William read rather fast. Grell racked her mind. He had been a literature student, she recalled. He had struggled to become a professor, like his father.

"You may wish to edit this, your prose is a tad roundabout," he told Thomas, flipping over the last page.

The boy chuckled. "Funny, the publisher told me pretty much the same thing…"

Grell was suddenly shaken from her observation as she realized that somehow they must be doing something wrong. She shook her head slightly and frowned, then walked briskly over to William.


	7. Red at Midnight

"What the hell are you doing?" Grell hissed at William, having yanked him up to eye level by his neck tie. She was uncomfortably aware of the proximity of their faces, but attempted to ignore it in favor of accomplishing the task at hand. William was oblivious to any sign of awkwardness in the gesture and responded in his dry voice.

"Nowhere in the rules does it forbid us from directly speaking with the subject," he said calmly, and somehow his calmness only infuriated Grell further. She was perhaps overreacting at exactly how bad the situation was, but she still harbored antagonism towards William for his insolence and complete lack of respect towards her.

Personally I believe that this is entirely Grell's fault for convincing herself that she deserved to be exalted for having an average of only one letter grade higher than William's. In reality he was being reasonably civil towards her, given that he had been kicked within an inch of his immortal life. Grell merely assumed that anyone who could marry her, forget about the marriage upon resurrection, then assume they were equal to her regardless of academic prowess, was completely inferior to her and therefore should be grateful to even have the chance to work with her. The insolence that she felt radiating off of William was gradually causing her to mentally overheat until she could form no coherent thoughts outside the borders of "B average cretin!".

Thomas Wallis, who had been watching the proceedings in front of him with clearly visible shock, suddenly found it in himself to speak.

"Are those- why are you carrying sickles?" he asked, with a wide-eyed and bewildered expression directed at Grell, who snarled at him.

"They're death scythes, actually," William clarified, much to Grell's chagrin.

"Shut up!" Grell hissed frantically, whilst baring her teeth at Thomas, who neglected to flinch and merely looked slightly bemused, then continued asking impertinent questions.

"I see! Death scythes like the grim reapers have in the legends?" he inquired eagerly, standing up. "You must be actors, part of some form of avant-garde theater!"

"What the he-" Grell started before she was promptly cut off my Thomas.

"You're so pretty! I've never seen someone so beautiful! You were clearly born to be onstage!" His eyes were wide and overly enthusiastic, as Grell noted with some trepidation. However, far overwhelming any trepidation was her weakness to flattery, and in this case, sincere flattery. No one had ever referred to her as pretty before and it struck her as amazing. She flushed and walked out from behind William.

Thomas was still carrying on.

"Your flame-red hair and porcelain skin...London is a true city of wonders!" he continued, spinning about in a manner that Grell likened to a ridiculously energetic and eager-to-please puppy. She smiled widely and laughed with genuine humor for the first time in several decades.

"Oh yes! All the world is a stage and I am a player, navigating the brutal, bloody battlefield of love!" she chortled and flourished her arms, vaguely noticing William's disapproving gaze. She hadn't recalled enjoying herself in a long time, and had rather forgotten the light, carefree feeling it brought. Perhaps this was happiness. She felt more like herself than she had in quite some time. It was...pleasant.

William coughed pointedly.

"Mister Wallis. While it has been of eminent pleasure conversing with you, it is time we should be on our way, as I am sure Mister Sutcliff will agree," he said, gazing at Grell sternly. She smirked. The foolish thing was assuming it could order her around. How charming. She elected to let William have his way for the time being. She waved at Thomas.

"Yes, we'll be leaving now. Bye, Tommy. As fate will have it I believe we shall meet again," she smiled slightly. He was pleasant to be around. She turned to William and instantly frowned.

Over the next two weeks, Grell was in a constantly switching state of irritation at William and a fond, rather motherly sort of affection directed at Thomas, whom she had grown to enjoy visiting. The boy had begun writing a new novel, that Grell had at first sarcastically stated could not have at all been inspired by William's thoughtless interference. It was, Grell also snarkily commented, subtly titled The Story of Will the Reaper.

"How original," she had remarked, laughing perhaps a bit harshly as she began reading the manuscript. "The boy is rather talented, but this seems a particularly cliched theme. Death and love? Honestly…"

She changed the tune of her speech upon finishing the book, an altogether emotional tale focusing on lost love and sacrifice. She became vaguely misty-eyed at Thomas's inclusion of a redhead by the name of Grell, and mentioned to William that perhaps the boy had quite a bit of talent after all. She began to view Thomas as someone close to her, almost painfully close. It was something of a parenting symptom, she realized. She had watched him struggle and succeed, and now he was finally going to make a proper name for himself.

"December sixteenth. Four o'clock," William stated to Thomas's bedroom wall, as though he would rather not blatantly direct his words to Grell.

"Hmm?" she replied, vaguely perplexed.

"His exact death date. And the date the publisher has given him to submit the finished novel."

Grell was speechless. Thomas...his life was not meant to end in such a cruel way. He was so close...so painfully close to success and happiness.

"But...his novel...it's beautiful…" she managed to get out.

"Yes," William stated calmly, cleaning his spectacles. "I believe it will be regarded as a literary classic."

"He's going to die...at precisely four o'clock today…" Grell shuddered in trepidation.

William merely glanced at Thomas, who was fast asleep upon a pile of scribbled and crossed-out pages.

"William…" Grell stated hesitantly, then realized that this was the first time she had addressed him informally. "Perhaps we should let him live…I could contact the association…" she continued. From the corner of her eye she noticed the hand on the clock tower inching ever closer to Thomas's fatal hour, with only ten minutes left. The two were standing on a rooftop and watching Thomas gather his papers together and begin briskly walking towards the publisher's office down the street.

"That won't be necessary," William replied with his normally cold, calm voice.

"But-" Grell began, only to be cut off.

"We will collect his soul as we were instructed."

"But the loophole! His book will obviously be beneficial to the world!" She shouted at him. "You told me it would be a literary classic!"

"And based on my personal evaluation of one piece of his work...we should allow him to live. Is that what you are suggesting, Grell?"

Grell narrowed her eyes angrily and struggled with the question. She was well aware that it was worded in such away that she would appear unintelligent no matter how it was answered. That annoyed her about William. He was always trying to make her seem stupid, even though he was clearly the B average student who would always and forever be below her, the A average. She snarled.

"Yes. That is what I am suggesting. Is there a problem?"

"No. There is no problem, save for one thing."

"And what is that?"

"You are wrong," he said simply.

Grell was gradually becoming more and more irritable. Did he perhaps want to be pummeled again? Was he purposefully antagonizing her at this point with his continually obnoxious comments?

The answer...I cannot tell you for certain. However, it most likely fell somewhere in the vein of simple naivete and an overly simplistic viewpoint of the rules. Regardless of the reason, as it appeared to Grell, he simply needed to be silenced. It was no longer about Thomas. It was about the insolence, the obnoxiousness, and the intolerable yet necessary presence of William T. Spears.

"Those are fighting words," she hissed, then lunged at him with all her strength. He evaded the attack with ease and adjusted his spectacles.

"I would prefer not to harm you, as my grade may suffer," he stated matter-of-factly. Grell was immediately filled with an unquenchable rage.

"Are you implying that you held back the last time we fought?" she laughed loudly. The notion was ludicrous. Her triple A in Practical Skills and Combat clearly spoke for her. "Your B can suck my A, you don't stand a chance in hell against me."

"As I recall, you only received an A in one subject...you didn't fare particularly well in either of the other areas…" William said calmly, with almost the hint of a smile on his face.

"How dare you mock me," Grell hissed, lunging at him. Again he evaded her, and she was hit forcefully in the chest with the handle of his death scythe. She gasped. She couldn't possibly have missed that...what was he playing at? He struck at her with the sharp end, and she clumsily managed to block his advances. She was...losing. It was a foreign concept, but as she was being worn down, she encountered a sudden realization. He had not been insolent. He had been factual and precise. He knew her weaknesses and how to convince her of his point. He was...better than her, in this aspect. She was caught off guard by her thoughts and was struck sharply in the lower back by a kick that send her smashing to the ground. She was perplexed and slightly horrified, yet her body was filled with a rather warm tingling she had never before experienced. Her mind was struggling to grasp what had happened. William had defeated her. William, whom she had mocked and chuckled at. William, whom she had beaten before, whom she had escaped the monotony of by dying in her old life. Suddenly she appreciated his presence and felt something more than tolerance. She had been genuinely awful to him for something he did not even have recollection of, and she realized this.

She loved him. He, who had not filed a complaint against her for all the abuse she had leveled at him. He, who had not even complained after she had kicked him into a wall and partially dislocated his jaw. He, who, despite loving Thomas's work and heralding it in his knowledgeable, literary way, was still insisting that for the sake of the world, they let him live and die as planned.

William T. Spears.

She could barely breathe properly, something she had previously discovered was not necessary, but still remained a habit. She loved him...she gazed up at him from the ground as he spoke in a blur of words about life and death that she swallowed uncomprehendingly. This feeling was overpowering her, but in a pleasant, warm way not at all like the anger she had so often felt. It was as though her world had suddenly been tinted in a warm pink. She had become focused around one point of consistency and sense, and that point stood before her in a well-pressed suit. She loved him.

William glanced over his shoulder.

"It is time to go. Come, Grell," he stated before jumping off the rooftop.

She watched him go with her blurred, rosy vision.

"Don't...leave...me…" she whispered before collapsing on the roof. She would perhaps have remained in that position for the remainder of her immortal life, save for a scream that suddenly pierced the air from down the street.

"Thomas…" she whispered, sitting straight up, before another shout echoed through the sky.

"Will…" she gasped.


	8. Red Beginning Anew

It is an interesting fact that regardless of all past experiences with another being, one can suddenly experience a change of heart. Perhaps it is after learning the other's story, perhaps it is after the other does something remarkably selfless, but regardless of the cause, there is nothing so peculiar nor so fundamentally supportive of the basic good in humanity than one who has been antagonistic becoming tolerant. These are thoughts and musings that have affected me and my own heart, but for the purpose of this narrative, they affected Grell.

She, who had hated William T. Spears beyond any conceivable expression, she who had convinced herself that he was responsible for all that had gone wrong in her life, now realized that she was, in a way, indebted to him. He had perhaps not been kind, but he had also not been cruel, which was the essential reason she felt so inclined towards him. Perhaps, she thought, as she ran frantically to find the source of the anguished yelling that echoes through the snowy sky, he genuinely did like her. He was not outright hostile, nor particularly intolerant, which fell in sharp contrast to her previous experiences in training. She was confused, but one thing in her mind was entirely clear. She loved him, and therefore she was going to save him.

As she rounded the corner, she froze with horror upon viewing the scene in front of the publisher's office. Thomas Wallis lay, twitching slightly, in a pool of his own blood. He had been, Grell realized with increasing horror, struck in the head by the wheel of a carriage. He was dying in the same way she had nearly a hundred years ago, and the thought killed her. Thomas Wallis, a human of remarkable talents and astonishingly charismatic kindness, was dying. He would not be saved, for the world would not notice his absence. Grell struggled with this idea still, though she understood the rationale. She recalled her own mortal life. She had accomplished nothing noteworthy in her time, and still John Smith, who appeared to enjoy mocking her purely for his own laughs, had saved her. She could not help but feel that the world would not and had not noticed her absence when she had died. Then again...she had not been simply spared. She had been resurrected, for reasons she still did not understand.

She pushed down her grief for Thomas into the bottom of her heart and saw William. He was surrounded by a glowing mass of light, which upon further inspection, appeared to be cinema reels. Grell struggled to remember what they were called, as she had neglected to pay attention while in the class that had focused on this. Cinematic records. She was relatively certain that this was the term. William appeared to be in extreme pain, and she noticed that he was not wearing his glasses. Clearly this was not what should be happening. She jumped across the roof.

"You know, that was very inconsiderate of you to get me all hot and bothered and then fly off," she said jokingly, and William glanced over at her with obvious relief. Grell flipped out her death scythe and sliced the cinematic record that was twisting its way around William and pulsing Thomas's memories into his mind. The record fell away, and she located William's glasses, which she assumed had been knocked off in the struggle.

"You should be more careful with those," she smiled as she carefully slid them back onto his nose. He looked up at her with an expression partway between relief and surprise. "Now, my darling," she continued. "Let us finish this together!"

"I'm not your darling…" William insisted rather halfheartedly. He pulled out his death scythe.

Grell smiled and touched her death scythe to his, which immediately resulted in a blast of blue, electric light that radiated through the sky and collided with the remains of the cinematic record. It was beautiful, and she was amazed by the exhilarating effect it brought to her. She smiled slightly as the sky returned to normal. She thought of Thomas, now at peace, and hoped that he knew on some level how special he had been. She also thought of William, who stood next to her with his eyes fixed at the sky.

"What a cold beauty…" she murmured as she gazed at him. "How very fetching."

It was not until several days later that the results for the exam were tallied. I believe that the final score was a B, as there had been multiple points docked from the final grade due to the fighting between the two. Being that as it may, Grell and William had sufficiently passed and received their certifications of qualification. Two days after this, they were presented with new glasses, the rite of passage for all grim reapers.

Grell had mixed feelings upon passing the exam. She was still filled with guilt for Thomas's death, and for several months after she would think of him daily and mentally apologize to him over and over. She also found herself following William around, and although he was still an inconceivably dull person, she felt more inclined to be around him, especially as he now spoke to her occasionally, feeling, she assumed, as though he could stand to be more cordial since she had saved his life.

Her hair was continuing to grow, and she developed an attachment to her glasses. They were red-framed and rather flamboyantly adorned with black chains. It made her inconceivably happy to think that here was at least one thing that she could use to express her true self, even though the dress code remained nearly as strict as it had when she had merely been a trainee. There were a few exceptions, such as the coat she now wore, which was longer than her previous one and flared out at the bottom, which she appreciated, especially given that it was much more effeminate than the standard suit jacket. She had also taken to wearing heels, a pair that she had found in a shop some time after Thomas had died.

Grell was perhaps close to happiness at this point, though she still struggled with people refusing to recognize her by the gender she felt she was closest to. However, it was slightly easier, as John Smith had tended his resignation and was no longer loudly referring to her as "Mister" when they happened upon one another in the hallways.

As time passed gradually and without significant changes in her life, her hair began to grow longer, as did her affection for William, who remained entirely oblivious.

She had recently taken up the task of creating a death scythe of her own, as for the past year of her active grim reaper career, she had still used her old scythe, which, while she was emotionally attached to it, was not particularly powerful. She did not bother to request time off for her little project, as, she rationalized, William would notice her absence and perchance call her into his office. She smiled widely at the thought. Over time, she had become far more comfortable with her razor-sharp teeth.

She focused on the development of her death scythe over the period of a week. It was a painstaking process; one that she devoted approximately fourteen hours every day to. She was reasonably certain that it would be difficult to have approved, but she was confident in her persuasive abilities. Grell spent the first day finalizing the design she had in mind. She intended to use as much of her old death scythe in the construction as possible for sentiment's sake.

The construction required her to come across a substantial amount of scrap metal. This was not a significant problem, as she had already managed to convince William to give her his old death scythe, and there was a plethora of raw steel she had managed to acquire from the department in charge of manufacturing new recruit scythe models.

She used the raw steel to fashion two interlocking rectangles that rounded off on the end. She cut the steel from hers and William's death scythes into sharp, hooked triangle teeth, which she attached to a long chain she had been lucky enough to find as part of the mechanism in an old set of typewriters. For the handle of her weapon, she had created a steel base and a rudimentary motor which she had covered in a layer of hard, smooth red plastic.

As she surveyed her work upon completion, she smiled to herself. It was quite lovely, and she certainly would not have been able to find such a device anywhere else. It had been well worth spending so many hours alone in an abandoned London warehouse. Now...it had come time to see how well her effort had paid off.

Grell lifted the chainsaw without a great deal of difficulty, thanks to the lightweight nature of the steel, and as she started the motor, the teeth began to rotate rapidly along the chain as planned. She laughed joyfully, then turned around to look for something to test the sharpness of the blade on. She could not find anything ideal for testing, so she merely swung the blade down upon her work table, which sliced neatly in two. Grell shut off the chainsaw.

The table had been cut perfectly, and she marveled at the properties of the steel. She was not entirely sure regarding the differences between steel used for death scythes and steel of other types, but she was altogether happy with the results. Now...perhaps she should attempt to have it properly licensed.

It was, she thought as she carried her saw back to the reaper headquarters, well worth any refusals to license her scythe if she could speak to William.


	9. Red in Shock

As Grell gradually made her way over to William's office after reentering the Grim Reaper dispatch, she began to ponder what she was really going over for. Her intent was to have her new death scythe properly licensed so she could use it for field work, but at the same time, the greater intent behind that was simply to be able to visit William. She desperately wanted to talk to him, but for no real reason. It was a strange compulsion to be close to him, despite his lack of any interesting qualities or notable talents in a specific field rather than being bookish. Perhaps...just perhaps...she thought cautiously to herself...she should tell him her feelings for him. It most likely would not cause her any harm or inconvenience. There was also a chance that it would quell the incessant butterflies in her stomach.

She had never felt love before in this way, and it was something wonderful. She often imagined what it would be like if he held her...or what it would sound like to hear him speak to her softly. Grell smiled to herself. He was so incredibly wonderful...his eyes were exactly the same color as hers, but with entirely different expression behind them. They were harsh and cold, but she fantasized about making his expression melt. She chuckled slightly to herself as she walked, and decided to stop by her room before dropping by his office.

She cracked open the door slightly. Occasionally before she had been taken aback to see a cleaning crew in the hall, and then in her room, dedicatedly scrubbing and dusting away. She had wondered vaguely if this was the job that trainees who did not pass the final were given. How distasteful.

Grell, at this moment in time, was making a particularly risky decision. It is nothing that I would have ever taken upon myself to do in any scenario, and while I do commend her courage, I also offer up the general statement that these sorts of things rarely turn out as they should. In a way that I do hope does not come off as particularly insensitive, I do wish to point out that Grell is different. As her mother Liesel had told her several times, and as I myself have told her in the kindest way possible, she is different. There is nothing wrong with her, but because of this she is judged.

Rather ignorant of the potential risks, Grell entered her room and stood in front of the mirror, frowning slightly, and tried to find something about her appearance she could fix. Her skin was far less pale than it had been on the fateful day she had woken up. She had a bit of color in her face, and her hair had finally reached down to her waist, which she loved. It reminded her of when she had been human, the memory of which had receded now into something with not quite so much anger and heartbreak behind it. She opened a small drawer in her bedside table and removed a small bag containing cosmetics.

She had taken to using makeup, as some varieties were fairly common in the human world. It made her feel more elegant, and despite the frequent objections she received from the management officials who enforced the dress code, she continued to wear it on most days. She reapplied the black liner around her eyes and dusted her eyelids with a red powder. Grell was altogether convinced that she looked feminine enough for any situation. It was pleasant, really, that she had come so far since her first day as an immortal. She felt genuinely beautiful.

Grell took a deep breath and went over her relatively questionable plan. It had a slight chance of proving fruitful, but a significant chance of resulting in humiliation. It was incredibly difficult for her to make the decision to tell William how she felt, and the longer she considered it, the more she was certain of rejection. However, she was able to calm down enough to decide that even though she would be rejected, it would be worthwhile to at least try to speak with him about it.

The strange, mildly nauseating butterfly feeling consumed her again and she smiled to herself. It was happiness, she was fairly certain of this.

With a flourish, she picked up her saw and walked quickly down the hallway and up a flight of stairs, resisting the urge to skip. She reminded herself of the embarrassing moment a month ago when she had toppled backwards down the stairs due to her over enthusiasm. It had been not so much painful as horribly embarrassing. William had noticed, and after taking the time to help her to her feet and inquire as to her well-being, had walked away. She smiled at the memory. He did, perhaps, care for her at least a bit.

She was correct in this, though she did not know it. I can ascertain that William did have some degree of emotional feeling for her, though he was at loathe to admit such a thing. He, though he was secretly amused by her antics and still grateful on some level for her actions taken to save him, was not at all inclined to show anything other than simple courtesy to her.

Grell, however, was blissfully unaware of this, and as she knocked briskly on the door of his office, was already imagining what would happen should he reciprocate her affection. Too impatient to wait for a response, she cracked open the door and peered in to see William at his desk, signing and notarizing papers.

She began to walk over to his desk quietly, assuming that she had not been noticed. She reached out to tap him on the shoulder, but before she could, he spoke.

"What is it, Grell?" he asked, not looking up at her. "You know full well that as my shift ends at 6:00, I do not entertain silly questions after 5:30."

Grell glanced at the clock. 6:15.

"Why are you still working, then?" she asked, bemused.

William looked up and narrowed his eyes at her. She grinned.

"Because some certain employees do not turn in their paperwork to me until the last minute," he said coldly.

Grell laughed.

"Look at that, I've made you answer a question."  
William frowned and returned to his paperwork.

"I haven't even told you what I'm here for!" Grell poked his shoulder. She lifted her chainsaw and set it on his desk, obstructing his reach of the notary stamp. William frowned.

"What is this?" He asked, examining it disapprovingly. "It looks rather like an osteotome."

Grell looked at him, rather surprised.

"Well, yes it is actually, see, a few months ago I reaped the soul of a man in...Switzerland I think it was? He wasn't Swiss himself, but that's beside the point. At any rate, as I was viewing his cinematic record I saw that he had created something rather like this," she gestured to the death scythe. "...for the purpose of making amputation less painful. And now it's a death scythe." She grinned, looking altogether pleased with herself for her creation.

"Bernhard Heine," William stated, picking up the chainsaw and examining it. "I remember when you had that assignment, you never stopped complaining about having to go all the way to Switzerland. However, it appears that this is in order as long as everything is manually operated."

"How lovely," Grell replied, still smiling. She did not bother to correct him and say that it was, in fact, motorized. The relevance did not strike her at the time. "You know, I've made the teeth from our old death scythes...it has some rather sentimental value to me."

William neglected to respond and began writing out a permit.

"Will...I've been thinking lately…" she started.

"Sign here, please," William interrupted, handing her the sheet of paper. Grell took it and wrote her name with a flourish before handing it back. William signed and stamped it before handing it back to her. "There, it's been officially recognized. I assume that's all?" He glanced up at her expectantly.

She hesitated.

"Will, there's something that I…" she started. He was looking at her in an exasperated and altogether disinterested manner. However, she pressed. on. "William, I know we have known each other for a considerable amount of time now, a few years or so…"

"It's been ninety years, Grell," William stated in a dissatisfied manner.

"What?" she jumped slightly. She had never become accustomed to the rate of time passing so much faster in an immortal state. "How?" she demanded.

"As I am certain you were paying little attention at this point in our training, I will explain," he pushed his glasses up. "We experience days as long during the time we feel them occurring, however they last approximately 1/10 of the time for us as they do to humans. It is comparable to saying that you feel a month has gone by quickly when you think about it. For humans this is merely a disorientation of time, but for us, things literally move more quickly. Time adjusts to perception as it is relevant to our life spans. Therefore, humans perceive the time period of one hundred years to be scarcely enough time to live, but for us, this counts as the equivalent of only one year to our life spans, which extend for millennia."

Grell looked at him rather speechlessly. That did manage to explain it. Perhaps now she could stop avoiding such nasty surprises. She shook her head slightly to clear her mind, then resumed her speech.

"Well...thank you for that...informative speech. Now, William, as I was saying, if you would allow me to continue," she glanced at him. He nodded slightly.

"Remember when we were training and you told me why we couldn't keep Tommy alive?" she asked. He nodded again.

"At that point I realized what you were really like, that you weren't a terrible, insensitive, coldhearted person. You simply knew that rules exist for a reason…" she hesitated. "I felt horrible for the way I'd treated you...and from then on, for the last few years…"

"Ninety years," William interjected blankly.

Grell frowned.

"Ninety years, then...I love you," she said simply, then attempted to gauge his facial expression.

"You love me," he said, as though attempting to wrap his head around this piece of information. "Grell Sutcliff, do you even know what love is?"

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Yes. I do. I love you."

"I've seen the way you act. I know how flirtatious you are, and I must say I am relatively certain that this is not a statement with any permanence behind it," he said dryly, turning his head down and opening one of his desk drawers.

Grell was shell-shocked. Here he was, sitting in front of her, and rather than simply rejecting her politely, he was blatantly questioning the validity of her feelings. It was infuriating. However, she caught herself, fighting the urge to scream in his face.

"William, please believe me, I-I've felt this way for a very long time, apparently, much longer than I initially thought," she said quietly, surprising herself.

He shook his head in disapproval.

"That is all, my work day is over," he stated coldly, not meeting her angered, saddened gaze. "Please see yourself out."

She turned on her heel and left silently, slamming the door behind her. I am altogether certain that she did not think to look back, but if she had, she would have noticed that William's eyes were altogether slightly more red around the edges, or perhaps she would have seen the way his shoulders shook slightly more than they usually did, as though he were trying to hold something back that he had struggled with for a very long time.

Perhaps ninety years.


	10. Red in Amusement

She was fire. She felt as though her heart was burning through the inside of her soul. It was the most painful feeling she had ever experienced, and she was somewhere between feeling intense rage and merely wanting to fall to the ground and cry. She had never expected this, and she ran up the stairs, tripping slightly, until she reached the floor of her room. She raced down the hall and threw open the door before slamming it behind her. Words echoed in her mind.

Do you even know what love is?

She choked on tears she was trying to hold back and began coughing uncontrollably.

Please see yourself out.

Her heart was breaking.

She fell to the floor with tears running down her face. It was not like her to feel this way. She had no prior experience with love, that was true, but surely the light, happy feeling she so often felt when near to him was love. She enjoyed his presence, even his cold tone and his ridiculously uptight way of walking. And yet she had still been so heartbroken and surprised at not simply his rejection, but the way that he had rejected her. The tears continued to fall from her face. She had to get out. She reached under her bed to search for her casebook, more commonly referred to as the To-Die List. It was the summary of all the human deaths that were scheduled to occur within the month, and her particular edition was filled only with her assigned humans.

As she reached under her bed and felt around, she felt a sharp sting of pain on her hand, then located her casebook. She picked it up and her hand twung with pain again. Grell took notice of a relatively long cut on her finger, stretching down to her palm and measuring perhaps two inches, then saw that the wound had left a blotched red stain on the cover of her book.

She lifted her hand and examined the cut. Blood was steadily dripping from it, and she let it fall onto the front of her coat. It was so very red...the color she adored. Her fingers touched her face. It was somehow comforting to her, to see the brilliant shade of ruby. It calmed her, and she felt more warm and began to subside her shaking. She took an unnecessary breath. Still a habit, after ninety years. It was soothing.

She flipped open her casebook to the day's work list and read the name quietly to herself.

Mary Ann Nichols. Prostitute. Death scheduled for 1:36 AM on Friday, May 23, 1888. On the way home she will be ambushed; another woman will slit her throat and attempt to deface the body further.

She frowned slightly. Prostitutes were low enough as it was. How someone could have a motive for killing one was beyond her comprehension. Their lives were so empty already…

She took notice of the wording. In her experience as a grim reaper, she had learned that often deaths, especially murders, were not as clear-cut as they should be. The use of the word "attempt" intrigued her.

Regardless of what was going to happen, it was imperative that she complete at least one assignment that day if it meant leaving the Dispatch. She slid black leather gloves over her hands, and winced at the material chafing against the cut on her finger. With her mind occupied and with thoughts of William pushed out of her head, she grasped her chainsaw and jumped out of her window.

She swished sharply down until her feet lightly touched on an awning about two hundred feet above the ground. She stood there for a moment and used her binoculars to survey the human world. Grell was always amazed at the lack of perception humans had. Here was the London Dispatch building, situated obviously in the center of the city, and in almost comedic contrast with the antiquated architecture surrounding it. Not once had she seen a human offer it as much as a second glance. It seemed to her that they must notice it, but adjusted it in their minds to fit into their version of reality. She made a mental note to ask William about it, before frowning as she remembered she was no longer on speaking terms with him.

Grell gritted her teeth in frustration as she searched for Mary Nichols. How annoying. It shouldn't be this difficult.

After approximately thirty minutes of cursing and squinting, Grell finally located her, walking down an alleyway. She jumped off the awning and into the air.

At this point, allow me to clarify the mode of transport most often used by grim reapers. They are not capable of flight, per se, but instead possess something referred to as mass-altering composition. This is the way by which they are able to willingly alter parts of their composition to suit the mass and density of their surroundings. By this theory, they are able to jump significant distances if they have a running start, or if they are jumping off ledges and into the air. For example, when they jump from a ledge, they are able to achieve the same weight as the air, and travel with the momentum from their jump until they slow down.

It is also not uncommon for a reaper to, instead of merely allowing gravity to bring them down slowly, adjust their mass and plummet quickly to the ground at a rate much faster than a human falling normally. This occasionally results in cracking the ground that they land on due to their dramatically increased mass.

Essentially, at the point Grell jumped into the air, she was composed of more air than flesh. This, coupled with the favorable direction of the wind, allowed her to remain airborne for several minutes. She rarely paid this interesting ability much heed, as it had become almost instinctive to use while combat training. She gradually began to lower her altitude as she approached Mary Nichols, and gripped the steeple of a nearby church in order to observe the death.

Just as it had been written, as Mary approached the end of the alleyway, a hooded figure appeared from the shadows, a knife gripped in its hand, which was shaking. Grell chuckled to herself. It was always entertaining to watch an amateur murder take place. Mary seemed to utter some noise of recognition as the figure turned its face to her. Within moments she was tackled to the ground and her throat was slit. The figure flipped back her hood and Grell started slightly. Red hair. The same unusual, fiery shade as her own. The redheaded woman screamed and began to slice open the layers of clothing around the abdominal region of Mary's still-choking body. Grell watched with mild curiosity as the woman made a neat incision across Mary's abdomen, her hands still shaking. Grell jumped from the church steeple and cracked the pavement slightly.

"I rather think that's enough, don't you?" she said, laughing. How amusing. "You've done a rather glamorous job of things."

The redheaded woman shrieked piercingly. Grell made a shushing movement with her hands and walked over, unthinkingly embracing her. The woman quieted and began breathing heavily. Her eyes were glazed over.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" Grell whispered.

"Angelina…" the woman breathed. "Angelina Dalles."

Grell gestured to the woman choking on the pavement and coughing up blood.

"Who's this? What sort of problems have you got with her?"

Angelina breathed heavily, her shoulders still shaking. Grell let go of her .

"That's...some whore...I don't even remember her name...Polly or something...she...she didn't want…" Angelina began crying in great, gasping sobs that racked her body. Grell pitied her. Obviously she was distraught. Humans. They did overreact so. Grell specifically neglected to remember her own episodes of crying and screaming.

"She didn't want her child. And I…" Angelina seemed unable to finish the sentence. Grell stroked the top of her head and shushed her. She regained a bit of her composure. "I cannot have a child. There was an accident several years ago...and I am forced to experience the worst torture imaginable. I am a doctor...she came to me for an abortion...her and so many others like her. I couldn't take it any more," she whispered, then coughed slightly.

Grell's eyes flashed in recognition. How interesting. This woman...Angelina rather reminded Grell of herself. She was a woman with a part of her missing. She wanted something impossible. Grell smiled sympathetically at the pathetic creature in front of her.

"You know…" she began quietly. "I want what you want. In fact, I'd even take what you have to be at least a little closer to what I want. I want to be a woman. I want to have a baby of my own. But that's never going to happen for me, because, well…" Grell gestured to her body. "I'm not a woman."

Angelina looked at her uncomprehendingly.

"We're like two peas in a pod," Grell whispered.

:::::::::::::::::::::::

"Here, come over here," Grell whispered impatiently.

Angelina had been following her for the past hour in silence, walking like a petrified dog with its tail between its legs. In retrospect, Grell had mused, it may not have been the best of ideas to make use of her chainsaw and collect the souls of Mary Ann Nichols and three other corpses in the vicinity in front of Angelina, but hindsight was twenty-twenty. Grell was certain the woman would get over it, seeing as she was still covered in blood from killing a whore.

They had reached a small inn. Grell looked Angelina up and down.  
"They're not letting you in like that. Come around the back, we'll hop through a window."

Grell reached her hand out. Angelina stared uncomprehendingly, still in stony silence.

"Honestly. I don't bite. At least not all the time. Come on, you daft thing," Grell rolled her eyes and grabbed Angelina's arm. "You need to get cleaned up and I'm not about to take you back to my place, Will would-" she stopped. Again she had forgotten. "Nevermind," she finished quickly.

She pulled Angelina around the front of the building until they reached a wall dotted with several windows, most of which, Grell noticed in frustration, were lit. Who could possibly be up at this ungodly hour she didn't know until she vaguely recalled that this was the district frequented by prostitutes. She spotted a darkened window several floors up. She desperately hoped it was unoccupied, as it would be difficult for her to drag Angelina up even two floors.

Grell glanced around. How inconvenient it was to have a human in tow. She could easily have jumped up to the window herself, but she was relatively certain that Angelina would be unable to follow her. She had only a limited knowledge of the method by which reapers could change mass and she wasn't willing to test it. Instead, she decided to take a chance that could potentially result in failure, but was considerably less founded in questionable guesswork and physics.

She switched on her chainsaw.

"Put that away! I'm not dying today, I'll have you know!" Angelina shouted.

"Oh, so you haven't lost your ability to speak," Grell noted with surprise. "No need to worry, this is our ride."

She lifted the saw above her head and shoved it into the brick wall. With her luck, most humans would be too dense to notice or hear it. She picked up Angelina and grabbed on as the chainsaw rather comically chewed through the bricks and made its way up the wall surprisingly quickly.

They approached the window and Grell suddenly realized the flaw in her plan.

"Angelina! You have to jump in now!" she shouted over the buzzing motor.

"No! It's too high you stupid idiot!" Angelina screamed. Grell gritted her teeth in frustration. Stupid human woman. As if she knew any better.

"Jump or I'm going to drop you!" Grell yelled.

Angelina shot her a look of loathing and jumped through the window, shattering the glass. Grell quickly followed, jumping off the chainsaw, which, upon reaching the open space, ricocheted up and flipped backwards. If Angelina had not jumped off at the appropriate time, she would have been sliced down the middle. Grell leaned down and barely gripped the handle of the chainsaw, managing to turn it off. She sighed in relief, then shut the window and turned around to see Angelina sitting in the center of the room uttering a string of profanities.

"Honestly, get up. I'm trying to help you," Grell rolled her eyes.

"You almost killed me! Now there's no way in hell no one heard that. I hope you're happy, now we're both going to be arrested and dead. As if my life weren't shit enough already," she choked before collapsing into tears.

"No one heard. I didn't want them to, so they didn't," Grell stated matter-of-factly.

"Stop talking, you don't make sense," Angelina covered her ears like a frustrated, rather bloodstained child.

"I'm a grim reaper you ninny, I'm not seen or heard unless I want to be," she replied. "Really, you should be thanking me after I saved you back there. It wouldn't have taken long for a shrieking, bloody woman to cause suspicion. Technically I'm not even supposed to be interfering, but as I'm in a bit of a spat with a certain someone in management, I'm more inclined to fraternize with…" she took an up and down look at Angelina. "...you people."

Angelina frowned.

"I'll pretend to understand what you're doing here because I really don't care. You did mention something about protecting me? Could you keep doing that?" she asked.

"What, so you can go out and kill more whores?" Grell asked disinterestedly.

Angelina nodded.

Grell considered this. The consequences if she was caught would be dire, but getting caught itself...this would be unlikely. At any rate, she needed a friend.

"Very well," she stated, with a slight smirk on her face. Perhaps this would be fun. Grell Sutcliff and Angelina Dalles. Friends. Accomplices. How very fabulous.


	11. Red in Defiance

It is a fascinating thing that at the very moment two people meet one another at a tragically low point in their lives, they identify with one another. The human condition, and perhaps the immortal condition as well, revolves around the cycle of pain and sympathy. There are points at which we are reduced to nothing more than raw emotions of anger, hurt, and sorrow. I believe that Grell's sudden friendship and devotion to Angelina Dalles was brought about from such a cycle. It is not something that I would, at this time, have imposed blame upon her for. It is rather all that she did after their verbal covenant which brought her down to a level at which I could not help but...however, I digress.

At this time, Grell had rather enthusiastically agreed to assist Angelina in her plot for vengeance and retribution. The two had identified with one another in such a manner that Grell would most likely have continued to protect Angelina even if she had not been asked to.

"Sweetheart, we need to fix this," Grell gestured emphatically at Angelina's head. Angelina was sitting in front of the dressing table mirror in the inn room and attempting to unravel her long, blood-clotted hair from the tightly wound bun at the top of her head. Grell pulled off her gloves and produced a pair of red scissors from her pocket. "It's going. Allow me."

"I rather think not," Angelina said with a hint of ice in her voice. "I've seen the way you handle blades and I'd like not to jeopardize my appearance for the sake of your amusement.

"I do think it's not so much for my amusement, but rather for the sake of you staying as attractive as I am sure you are. Trust me, I do know what I'm doing," Grell stated, and walked over to the basin in the corner of the room and filled a small dish with water.

Angelina looked at Grell dubiously, as though she had ingested something questionable.

"Fine...not too short, though…" she sighed in defeat as Grell walked back over and pointedly cracked small flakes of dried blood off of her hair. Grell smiled and began working.

She began to flick water onto Angelina's hair in a fruitless attempt to soften it. She frowned as the water merely slid off, leaving the blood as cracked and dried as it had been before. Clearly this was far from working. Grell sighed and with a flash of scissors, a sizeable chunk of Angelina's long hair was gone. After a few more cuts and a bit of trimming later, Angelina's hair was chopped into a sharp, angled cut.

"Dunk your head," Grell instructed, pushing Angelina's head back to the water basin. Angelina obeyed and Grell rinsed her hair out.

"All right, you're all done now. Try not to get it as messy next time. Keep your hood on," Grell instructed.

"Thank you…" Angelina stated, flipping the wet hair out of her face and examining her reflection. "It's better now."

"Well of course it is, I'm not inept at hairstyling," Grell rolled her eyes. "And by the way, do try to keep yourself together while killing someone, it's not particularly conscientious of you to scream. Next time try to keep the unfortunate soul quiet as well. A gag may prove helpful. Believe me, I've seen a number of unsuccessful killings. It's my job to watch."

Angelina frowned.

"What, are you having second thoughts?" Grell raised her eyebrows.

"No...no, not at all...it's just...we really are the same, aren't we. We only want to be loved unconditionally, but here we are lacking the potential for having children, and lacking husbands, I suppose. I shouldn't be making assumptions about your love life," Angelina replied dryly.

Grell laughed harshly and choked. She coughed and was alarmed to feel tears around her eyes.

"Go right ahead. I'm a failure in love, apparently," she coughed again. "He told me I'm not serious about loving him...although how he can claim to know how I feel, I don't know."

Angelina snorted derisively.

"Men...mine never even knew how I felt. He went off and married my sister, which, though far from ideal, at least gave me the comfort of knowing they were both happy. Then, as it turns out, they're both dead now. There was a horrible fire...my sister, her husband, and their child...all gone from my life forever. All I have left now is my work, and of course it's work that kills me to the depths of my heart. But even that would have been bearable if my own husband was still alive…" she trailed off and looked out the broken window. "Can you fix that, or will we have to pay for damages?"

"Don't worry, with any luck they won't even notice that this room exists," Grell waved her hand dismissively. "Tell me about your husband."

Angelina smiled sadly.

"He was really a wonderful man...I didn't love him, but I could have learned to...he knew I cared for another and yet he was so sweet to me. We were expecting a child...but there was a terrible accident," she touched her stomach and looked down sadly. "My baby is gone, and I've no way of getting my old happiness or life back. Living is worthless…"

Grell leaned over and grasped her hand.

"I wouldn't concern yourself with what you lost. It's in the past. I will say that you are far braver than I. You were able to at least be happy for him...and your sister," Grell swallowed. "If I had to go through life knowing that William was out there loving someone that isn't me...I couldn't stand it."

"You should go back to him," Angelina whispered. "You love him, don't you? More than anything, it seems. He should be able to see that, if that's all that's stopping him…"

Grell shook her head. She was too proud for that. At least, she liked to think she was. She frowned, her expression hardening.

"No...I can't do that. I'll let him come to me. He'll notice I'm gone eventually. He'll be sent to come get me, he was the last one to see me," she said with pseudo-confidence. "I know he will…" she trailed off doubtfully.

Grell was facing a conundrum. She wanted desperately for William to see what lengths he had driven her to. She wanted him to regret what he had said and admit his love for her. She never doubted that somewhere, deep in his heart, he felt something for her. However, at the same time she desperately wanted to be strong and tell herself that she did not need him, however much it hurt. She could not be strong. She was not mentally strong by nature, and she had seen the comments on her initial psych evaluation before she had begun training.

Grell Sutcliff, though he is entirely capable and intelligent, at times appears to have a tenuous grasp on reality. He is prone to mood swings.

How she hated that statement. In just one sentence it was made perfectly clear that her evaluators, and indeed everyone around her, knew nothing about her. She had considered the possibility that she was unstable, but always dismissed it under the rationale that one who is insane would be, by definition, unable to ponder what insanity was like. Angelina interrupted her thoughts with the clearing of her throat.

"Grell," she said quietly. "You glazed off for a moment there."

"I'm sorry," Grell laughed shrilly. "What is it?"

"I believe that if you are to assist me in my vengeance, I should not try to hide you. I wonder if you would be opposed to posing as my personal servant," she stated, and tried to gauge Grell's reaction.

"What, you mean like a-"

"Butler. You should pose as my butler," Angelina said firmly.

"Angie sweetheart, I'm not exactly the dignified, butlery type…" Grell frowned. How anyone could expect her to pass as male was beyond her.

"You can act, right? I assumed you'd be rather good at this sort of thing," Angelina smirked.

Grell wrinkled her forehead in thought before remembering that such a thing would leave her with permanent lines. She realized she was being flattered, but was willing to admit that she was altogether susceptible to such words, however empty they may have been.

"Very well...I suppose I can at the very least be an actress," she said dismissively, waving her hand.

Angelina smiled.

"Thank you, I do so appreciate it. There is one more thing…" she started, her voice taking a rather more serious turn. "If we are ever caught by anyone, under any circumstances, and we have no way of overcoming that situation, I want you to kill me."

"I don't believe I can do that, you see I'm just getting to know you and I actually think you're rather fabulous, so no," Grell hardened her gaze defiantly.

"I'm flattered, but please think about it, I won't have much to live for if we're caught. I scarcely have anything to live for now. It would be for the best. If you don't kill me, I'll have to kill myself. I know it's rather idiotic, especially seeing what I've been through, but I don't think I could do that. It won't be a bother to you. It's not as though I would have lived much longer anyway…" she trailed off and a look of inexplicable sadness crossed her face for a moment.

Grell clenched her teeth. Angelina did have a point, though Grell was still rather unwilling to do such a thing.

"If that is what you are sure you want…" Grell began hesitantly.

"It is."

"Then Angelina Dalles, you have my word that if we are caught and I cannot otherwise remedy the situation, I will kill you. However, this is remarkably unlikely to happen, so I wish you a long and happy life," Grell grinned, self-satisfied.


	12. Red Breaking

"I don't see how this can possibly work," Grell stated, distastefully eyeing her reflection in the mirror. "My teeth alone are rather a problem, are they not?"

Angelina walked over and squinted at her.

"They're hardly noticeable-" she began, then Grell grinned widely at her and she flinched. "Perhaps not...hmm...surely being some type of all-powerful immortal gives you some ability to hide little things like that."

Grell proceeded to open and close her mouth like a piranha in front of the dingy little mirror.

"I don't see how," she mused. "They've never gone away. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure why I have them. I haven't seen anyone else with teeth like this." She pulled up on her lip to further examine them. "Curious. You know, I've never really thought about it. I got them...let's see...what year is it?" she asked Angelina, who looked bemused.

"You don't even know that?"

Grell shrugged.

"I'm not particularly good with time. It really used to bother Wi-" she stopped promptly. "Perhaps if I think about it hard enough they'll go away."

"That sounds incredibly juvenile. And it's 1888," Angelina remarked.

"Ah, so...let's see. In one hundred and sixty-two years they haven't changed and I haven't questioned it. So there. I doubt they'd be changing now just because I thought it would be convenient if they did-" Grell stopped short and closed her mouth, a bemused expression spreading across her face. She poked at the front of her teeth with her tongue and noticed that her mouth was rather smaller inside, as though it no longer needed to accommodate half-inch long razors. She opening her mouth cautiously and at first had to look for her teeth. It was incredibly strange to her to see this, as she had grown so used to her shark smile. She felt uncomfortably different.

Angelina laughed.

"New teeth...it's a strange feeling…" Grell said slowly, attempting to assess the way her tongue moved as she spoke with this different jaw structure.

"So it would seem. You'll need to do something about your hair, too. That color's much too flashy," Angelina remarked.

"Excuse me? That's a ludicrous double standard," Grell huffed, gesturing wildly to Angelina's own fiery red hair. She noticed her teeth starting to sharpen again and caught herself.

Angelina shrugged.

"You'll appear much less unusual. I don't want to get caught, I'd much rather have my revenge in full before I die," she insisted. "Make it a dull color, something blond, perhaps, but not a golden blond. A gray, dishwater sort of blond. Or brown. A dark brown, but not in the warm way, more like a-" she went on before Grell interrupted her.

"I see your meaning. You want me to remove my own lovely hair color and replace it with a less pleasant version of something that under some circumstances could be attractive. Such as a dark brown, but a bog-like, muddy brown, I suppose?" Grell rolled her eyes. "Fine."

She pictured the color in her mind, which had seemed to work for the teeth. She imagined the color replacing her lovely shade of red, and after she blinked, she hardly recognized herself. It was terribly out of character and not at all attractive.

"I look hideous. There, are you happy?" she hissed.

"Yes, I rather am," Angelina smiled widely. "You look entirely normal, except for these…" She gently tugged off Grell's glasses with their sparkling black chain.

"Stop that!" Grell struggled to smack Angelina's hands away. "I can't see more than three feet in front of my face without those!" she protested.

"Wear these instead," Angelina suggested, procuring a pair of round, silver-rimmed glasses from the folds of her dress. Grell looked at them in surprise.

"You just happen to have glasses in your dress? When you've just gone out to kill a hooker? What goes on in your head, woman?" she asked, altogether perplexed.

"They're mine; reading glasses. I always carry them, but the lenses are too strong, they make my head ache," she shrugged.

Grell exasperatedly raised her head to the ceiling as though imploring the heavens to deliver her from the ludicrous whims of Angelina Dalles.

"Sweetheart, there's a biiiiiiig difference between reading glasses and glasses for nearsighted people…" she sighed. "You see, I have no trouble reading things close to me without glasses. It's when they're far away that I have problems. Same for all grim reapers, though some of us have it a bit worse."

Angelina proceeded to ignore this statement and stepped back several feet before holding up her hand and pointing three fingers into the air.

"How many am I holding up?"

Grell sighed in annoyance.

"Three, sweetie, it's not as though I've taken one too many shots to the head. I can see the shapes of things perfectly well, it's just that they're too blurry to-"

"Fine then!" Angelina grinned delightedly. "You can see just fine, now put these on, just in case." She shoved the glasses onto Grell's face and proceeded to pull her now-brown hair into a ponytail. Grell internally gagged. The glasses were terribly disorienting and unclear, but she assumed that she looked hideous with her hair pushed back in such a way. So very...average, with no identifying qualities left, save for her bright green eyes, which she assured herself that she would flatly refuse to change even if Angelina were to ask her. She felt incredibly unattractive.

"You can't possibly expect me to function properly dressed like this," Grell complained, running her hand over the top of her neatly pulled back hair.

"No, of course not, I expect you to function like this," Angelina whipped a handkerchief from her pocket, and after dipping it in the water basin, proceeded to scrub off Grell's lipstick and eyeliner.

Grell shrieked in alarm.

"Ow! That hurts, stop!" she protested in vain as her face was mercilessly rubbed and cleaned. She glared at Angelina. This little project was gradually becoming more and more annoying.

"Really, you can't pass as a man if you're wearing all that on your face. I need to take you back to my townhouse so you can learn how to act like a proper butler," she insisted.

"I don't want to be a butler! Why can't I be your maid? Even if I have to be your unattractive, plainfaced maid? I'm not suited to acting like a man, it's not in my nature and quite frankly it's rather insulting," Grell frowned. She didn't want to do this. She was gradually feeling more and more uncomfortable with the blurry reflection in the mirror across from her. She didn't feel like herself at all...although...she considered, perhaps this was the best thing she could do. William had rejected her because she was too bright and flirty. It might be better if she learned to tone down her personality.

Personally, I am averse to the notion that Grell should in any way have attempted to deny her true identity. I am also certain that William would have agreed. He had not rejected Grell for her personality; indeed, he had learned to love that fiery personality. He had rejected her because he himself had a fear of being rejected somewhere farther down the line, the moment someone better walked into view.

But Grell, oblivious to William's thoughts and indeed altogether unwilling to consider what his thoughts may have been, sighed in resignation and allowed Angelina to wipe off the rest of her makeup.

::::::::::::::

Annie Chapman. Grell examined the casebook with some difficulty, due to her awkward new reading glasses, and read the listing for Annie Chapman, twenty-one years old, who was going to be murdered that evening at eleven-thirty. Apparently, as the casebook stated, Annie Chapman's throat was to be slit and her womb was to be removed by a hooded woman. Grell smirked, an act that lost some of its intimidation with her smooth-edged teeth. This time, at least, she knew who the hooded figure was, and while that caused the little scene to lose a bit of its cache, it was still entertaining and much more self-satisfying.

Children. Grell would be so much less bitter about prostitutes having abortions if she herself were able to bare a child. It was something that she did so want, as she thought wistfully. She would be able to love and nurture something that would return her love without question. She pictured what her baby would look like. A little boy...no, a girl, with yellow-green immortal eyes and perhaps black hair, just like William. This time Grell did not redirect her thoughts away from him. She loved him, for reasons she could not rationalize to herself.

"Let's get going," Angelina's voice, now much harsher than she had heard it before, interrupted Grell's train of thought.

"No, you go on ahead, I'm your clean-up crew," Grell chuckled.

Angelina pulled the hood over her head and walked around the alley corner, out of Grell's field of vision.

There was a shriek, which was muffled quickly and replaced with desperately fast breathing. Grell nodded, self-satisfied. Clearly Angelina had taken her advice about the gag. Efficient vengeance was the best. Grell rounded the corner and stood over Angelina, who was crouched down, spattered in blood, over the massacred body of the young Miss Chapman.

"Mind your head, sweetheart," Grell laughed wildly and plunged her chainsaw into Annie Chapman's chest. Angelina ducked and narrowly avoided the buzzing teeth that whirred over her head. Blood spurted from the dead woman's chest and her cinematic record swirled like a mirage over Grell's head. The life of a prostitute. Entirely inconsequential. No one would miss Annie Chapman.

Grell cackled into the night, oblivious to Angelina's hushes. She was free. She was free and she would bring justice to the whores who threw away the most valuable part of their lives.


	13. Red Frustration

The morning after the death of Annie Chapman, the pair had forsaken their small, dingy inn room in favor of Angelina's townhouse, a rather aesthetically pleasing establishment on the outskirts of London. Angelina had stated that she was altogether sick of the little room, and now, two days after they had made the move, the two were gradually beginning to become accustomed to one another's presence.

Grell was at first rather taken aback by the interior of Angelina's home, which was significantly more luxurious than anything she had experienced prior to her tenure as a butler. She had been impressed by the place until Angelina had promptly dashed her admiration to the ground.

"It's rather convenient that you like it so much, as I expect you'll be spending a good deal of time cleaning it," she remarked, much to Grell's chagrin. Grell began to open her mouth and drew in a breath for what would surely be a long tirade against doing housework, but Angelina laughed and added, "I jest of course. I have other servants for that. Gregory Burnett was a wealthy man, I can't possibly expect one person to do everything."

"Gregory Burnett? Your husband?" Grell inquired, having relaxed slightly.

"Yes, yes he was. After he died, I switched my name back to Dalles…it seemed more comforting to have my old name back," she stated, and Grell decided not to delve any deeper into the matter of the deceased husband.

Some time later in the day, after Grell had become familiarized with the layout of the four-story home and been chastised by Angelina for flatly refusing to take the stairs between floors, preferring instead to jump the distance, Angelina asked her about the next listed victim.

"It seems rather more logical for me to just ask you which one shows up next. It's far too much unnecessary effort to look through my patient records to find them," Angelina mused.

Grell flipped through her casebook until her eyes landed on another woman with the job description of "Prostitute".

"Elizabeth Stride. That's tonight," Grell stated, her smile widening a bit. Though it had been merely two days since Annie Chapman, she was ridiculously excited for the next little night out, as she and Angelina had taken to calling their excursions.

"Tonight? Can't it be tomorrow? I'd rather not go out tonight, can't we just have a bit of tea before bed?" she asked, yawning exaggeratedly.

"No, actually, it can't," Grell furrowed her brow. "That's not how the list works."

"Well, fix it," Angelina waved her hand.

"I can't fix it," Grell hissed. "Allow me to explain how this works. Forgive me if it's not the most eloquent explanation, but you should be able to comprehend it. Fate is rather like a solid substance that bends slightly but always bounces back to its original form. Elizabeth Stride will be murdered tonight, and if you attempt to postpone it, situations will arise that force you to carry out what her fate requires. Reapers know this, we're able to ascertain what will happen and record it.

"For example, if you were to postpone going out tonight, then there may be some sort of fire that forces us to leave. Elizabeth may attack you, forcing you to kill her in self-defense. If you try to head out early to kill her, you will be met with inconveniences that force you to fall behind. Whatever you try to do to avoid what has been written, fate will always shove you back onto the same path," Grell finished, crossing her arms.

"That's rather depressing," remarked Angelina. "What about those poor saps who try to save someone's life and don't realize that it doesn't matter? Don't any of your people explain these things to them?"

Grell shrugged.

"It's not what we're here for. We clean up the human world and deliver judgement. We don't ask questions…" she trailed off, reminding herself of William. She abruptly cut off her thoughts and examined Elizabeth Stride's death listing.

Elizabeth Stride. Prostitute. Death scheduled for 12:01 AM on Sunday, May 25, 1888. She will be attacked in an alleyway while leaving work, her throat will be slit before the murderer flees.

She frowned and felt her heart rate speed up slightly. This was inconvenient...terribly inconvenient.

Before the murderer flees.

It was terribly annoying to know that something would prevent them from finishing the job, but at the same time she desperately hoped that the interruption was the cause of someone looking for her. She wanted William to worry about her…

Grell made a conscious decision not to tell Angelina that they would be interrupted. It would only annoy the daft woman further.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Three minutes. She should be coming this way any second now," Grell informed Angelina as they lay in wait, hiding in the darkened shadows provided by a narrow alley archway.

With much grudging, Angelina had been dragged out of her comfortable townhouse, but Grell could see that she was gradually becoming more enthused about the proceedings. Night air seemed to have an interesting effect on both of them. Angelina was twitching slightly in anticipation, with her knife clutched tightly in her hand. Grell squinted into the darkness, still struggling to see through the ridiculous glasses. She managed to make out a rather short figure approaching slowly.

"She's coming," Grell whispered. Angelina nodded and stepped out into the alleyway.

With the slight flash of a blade and a surprising lack of protest from Miss Stride, blood began to spurt from the woman's neck. Grell sidled over next to Angelina and was about to comment on the execution before she froze.

A faint noise in the distance echoed. There was a clicking sound that repeated three times, then was followed by a sharp swishing.

"What?" Angelina looked up at Grell, who had stopped breathing.

"Angelina. Follow me. Quickly," she mouthed. Angelina glanced down at Elizabeth's body.

"It doesn't matter," Grell mouthed again, gritting her teeth.

Angelina scrambled to her feet and followed Grell, who was beckoning furiously for her to follow into the alley archway. Grell was trying not to breathe, but her human instinct that still remained was making her feel lightheaded and dizzy. She was certain she had heard William's death scythe clicking as it swished through the air. Earlier that day she had been relatively excited at the idea of him coming to take her back, but now, as she was under threat of being discovered, she began to consider the potential consequences of her actions. It would be perhaps not just limited to a suspension should she be punished. She had heard stories of licenses being revoked, of reapers being demoted to General Affairs, and she cringed. Desk work was perhaps the worst punishment imaginable.

As she stood with Angelina silently and listened closely for the sound of footsteps, but to no avail, she breathed a sigh of relief. If William had been there, then clearly he had gone by now.

"We're safe...I believe…" Grell peered around the corner and saw nothing but the corpse of Elizabeth Stride. She hopped over and revved up her chainsaw. "I'll get this done with, but then we should be off."

She swung the saw over her head and stabbed it into Elizabeth's chest. She froze.

There was no cinematic record.

She promptly shut off the death scythe and flipped open her casebook, vehemently denying what her eyes were showing her. Her eyes scanned the pages, but Elizabeth Stride's entry was entirely absent, as were all other records after hers. Grell slammed the book shut, shaking slightly. She turned to Angelina.

"They've cut me off," she said quietly.

"Come again?" Angelina asked, narrowing her eyes.

"My casebook isn't registered anymore…it was him. He must have come by and taken her soul, because her page isn't even in my records anymore," she hissed under her breath. "And he won't even face me…" she snarled.

Grell threw her casebook to the pavement and stomped on it with a high-heeled boot.

"Angie, time to look through your patient records because it's time to leave some love letters," she grinned widely, allowing her teeth to sharpen again as the moonlight reflected eerily on her round glasses. "He might not think he misses me now...but soon he'll realize. Veeeeery soon."


	14. Red Frustration II

The passing of life is so very complex and beautiful, but at the same time it is cruel and unjust. For example, it was by no fault of any murdered prostitute that death came to take her away while laughing joyously and flicking its short, flaming hair as Angelina Dalles did. It was only the fault of their particular circumstances that forbade them from doing anything outside the realm of their current career paths. One may say that it was more merciful for them to abort their children, rather than subject them to a life on the streets. However, this is something that I know Grell never dreamed of pondering. She herself had lived in a particularly undesirable neighborhood, but had at least the comfort of a mother with her dignity in tact, something that the children of street whores could never hope to attain.

It is even reasonable to justify further the actions of the prostitutes, whose children had not yet reached even the stage of a heartbeat's development. The cinematic record forms at the same time as the heartbeat, but remains blank until the child exits the womb. Therefore, if the matter is examined with the utmost logic, Grell and Angelina had allowed their own emotions to take full precedence over the potential value of life.

However, I can ascertain that introspection and philosophical ponderings was the farthest thing from the minds of the two that police reports had begun to refer to as Jack the Ripper. They were currently upending desk drawers and cabinets in a search for Angelina's patient records, or, as Grell had begun obsessively and eerily referring to them as, "party invitations". Her mental state had become rather more warped in the past week, especially since her frustration and shock at William had achieved a new level.

"I've found one with an address!" Angelina shouted, brandishing a crumpled paper in the air.

"Finally," Grell snatched it from her. "Catherine Eddowes, hmm? I can find her easily enough. At least my scythe and binoculars still work…" she muttered darkly. "I'll take this one myself…"

Angelina rolled her eyes.

"Fine, fine...I suppose now you're going full mental…" she stated, frowning. "Are you still angry about that man whom you say has a generously proportioned stick?"

"It's his death scythe, Angie, do get your mind out of the gutter…" Grell sighed, but a slight smirk managed its way onto her face. "I very much doubt he'll be coming back, so no, no, no, I'm not angry in the slightest, not the slightest little-"

There was a brisk knock at the door.

The two looked at one another in surprise. There had not been a knock yet in the week and a half the pair had lived in the townhouse, save for the time the maid accidentally locked herself outdoors, and that scarcely counted.

"Go and answer that, you're the butler," Angelina waved her hand at Grell, who frowned.

"Do I look normal?" she asked, brushing dust from the cabinet off of her overcoat.

"Yes, perfectly fine, now go before they start thinking this isn't the proper place," Angelina turned her head back to the stack of papers.

Grell turned down the hall and jumped over the stairwell, chuckling slightly as the force from her jump cracked the marble floors.

"Grell!" Angelina shouted. "I've told you not to do that, marble is expensive!"

Grell ignored this, and after straightening her bow tie, opened the door and looked over the two peculiar figures standing before her, her eyes widening behind her round glasses.

There was a small boy, who was most likely not more than four and a half feet in height, despite his wearing heels. He was dressed in relatively well-made clothes, at least, as far as Grell's quick glance could make out, but they were rumpled awkwardly as though they had been ironed by someone who had never handled laundry equipment in their life. A black eyepatch covered his right eye.

Standing next to him was a tall man, perhaps three or four inches taller than Grell. He was wearing a black tailcoat, which made Grell assume he was a butler of sorts. His hair was rather messy, and seemed to hang around his head in black strands. His hands were covered with white gloves. He tilted his head and smiled at Grell.

"Would this be the Burnett residence?" he asked in a peculiar voice with an obvious English accent that Grell could not wholly identify, though she guessed it was from somewhere near Manchester. She started after comprehending that he had indeed asked her a question.

"Yes, please do come in," she said smoothly. "I am Grell Sutcliff, butler to the Burnett house. May I inquire as to your names, so that I may announce you to my mistress?"

"She knows me," the child stated shortly in an accent similar to that of his butler.

Grell looked at him with a hint of disdain. She didn't care for his attitude, the pompous little brat. Still, she bowed.

"Certainly. Please allow me a moment to fetch my mistress," she stated, turning to the staircase. As she walked up, her mind spun with questions. She had no idea who the peculiar duo could be, but she had a rather sickening feeling that she wouldn't be able to get out to look for Catherine Eddowes that night.

"Angie!" she hissed. Angelina dropped the stack of papers she was sorting through.

"Who was it?" she whispered.

"Some stuffy little kid and his butler, says you know him and you should come down," Grell replied, shrugging. "They're downstairs, probably stealing something. They're quite strange, if you ask me…"

Angelina gave her a strange look.

"You don't suppose they were police…?" she asked hesitantly.

"Angie, the kid was probably no more than twelve," Grell rolled her eyes. "Just come downstairs, if it turns out they're dangerous, I'll take care of it."

Angelina sighed.

"Fine...I'm coming," she said hesitantly as she lifted her skirt and stepped over the piles of paper.

When the two were about halfway down the stairs, Angelina caught sight of the boy and gasped, freezing.

"What?" Grell hissed from behind her.

"It's...it's…" Angelina ran down the stairs and fell onto her knees in front of the boy, embracing him and crying into his shoulders while Grell looked on, entirely perplexed, as though she had missed something that should have been obvious.

"Aunt Red," the boy said coolly, awkwardly placing his hand on Angelina's shoulder.

"Ciel...you're alive…" she whispered, with tears rolling down her cheeks.

Grell suddenly realized what was going on and in a sudden epiphany her mouth dropped in a silent "o". This was Ciel, Angelina's dead nephew, who was evidently not dead after all. It was rather interesting, she supposed, and although he looked as though he was relatively underfed and perpetually exhausted, she could understand Angelina's happiness at seeing him alive.

"Madam Dalles," the child's butler stated almost pseudo-cheerfully. "I am Sebastian, the butler of the Phantomhive household. While my master did insist upon visiting with you, we are on serious business as well."

"Oh...oh yes, of course…" Angelina struggled to her feet and kissed Ciel's forehead. She turned to Grell with a rather disoriented expression. "Grell…?"

"Yes, of course, mistress," Grell smiled. She was still relatively disturbed by the whole affair, and Sebastian, although quite attractive, was strange, and something about him seemed not quite right to her. Perhaps he simply reminded her too much of William. "Please, follow me."

She led them into the parlor, located just to the left of the main entry hall. As she was walking cautiously, she became lost in her thoughts, primarily of William, causing her to trip on the edge of the carpet and nearly fall flat on the floor, save for Sebastian, who somehow materialized next to her and gripped her arm. It would have been a kind gesture, she mused, if only he hadn't grabbed her so harshly. She could have sworn he also gave her a derisive glance.

"Thank you, sir," she forced a smile and stood behind Angelina, who sat across from Ciel.

"Aunt Red," Ciel began in that small, haughty voice of his. "I must reiterate that it has been a pleasure to see you, although there are serious matters I must attend to. Are you familiar with the serial murders currently taking place?"

Grell noticed that Angelina fell rather short of breath at this.

"Ah, yes, you mean the Jack the Ripper murders? Certainly, why, it's all over the news. Terrible, terrible thing," she said, shaking her head theatrically. "Why should you be worrying about this?"

"After my father died, I immediately became the watchdog of the queen, as he once was. It is my job, as instructed by Her Majesty, to apprehend the killer," he stated, folding his hands neatly in his lap. "Some tea would be nice."

"Yes, yes of course. Grell, please fetch us some tea," Angelina waved her hand absently at Grell, who was rather taken aback at the notion of doing work, and indeed of making tea, which she had never attempted before. She bowed and stepped quietly away, walking down the hallway to the kitchen. The current state of affairs felt rather like she had been caught in a trap. William knew what she was doing, though he refused to show himself to her. Ciel acted in such a self-righteous way that it was although he knew what she and Angelina were doing. And that butler...that peculiar butler...he had an air about him that made it seem as though he knew everything they had ever done. She swallowed nervously and walked more quickly.

When Grell reached the kitchen, she slammed the door behind her and slid to the floor. She growled in frustration and her teeth elongated again. They were trying to catch her. However, she had to insure that this would not happen. It could not. She was not even entirely sure why it was still so important to her to kill the prostitutes. It had moved past the point of assisting Angelina in her spiteful revenge drama and it had moved past wanting William to notice what she had been doing. She now was considerably more inclined to continue just because she enjoyed the act of ending pathetic human lives.

She breathed in and out, then stood up and examined her surroundings. She supposed tea was primarily boiled water, so she set a pot to boil, completely neglecting to notice the kettle already on the stove. As the water boiled, she searched for something resembling tea leaves. There was a small pot of dried green leaves that looked somewhat viable. She threw them in along with some sugar and waited anxiously, tapping her heeled foot on the floor. She was struggling to listen in on what Ciel and Angelina were discussing, but she was unable to hear anything besides Angelina's occasional shrill laugh.

Grell sighed and, noticing that there were vague air bubbles beginning to appear in the pot, attempted to pour her concoction into a teapot. However, some of the water splashed out and hit her hand. After cursing violently, she managed to locate tea cups in a cupboard that was altogether too high for her to reach easily. Growling in frustration and muttering a string of epithets under her breath, she haphazardly threw the dishes onto a tray, kicked open the door with her shoe, and made her way back to the parlor.

"Of course, we'll want you to assist us in the investigation, as you are considerably well-connected," she heard Ciel say in his annoying little voice. She turned the corner and set the tea tray upon the parlor table.

"Certainly, certainly," Angelina laughed again, and Grell silently wished she would stop overacting. "When shall we begin?"

"Tomorrow I should like you to accompany me to the Phantomhive manor, where we can-"

"Begging your pardon, young master," Sebastian began smoothly. "But perhaps so as to not inconvenience your dear aunt we should move to the townhouse previously owned by your family. After all, the murders have been happening in the city, and it will be far more convenient if we are to visit your old family friend within the week."

"Sebastian, you know how I detest the city," Ciel sighed and frowned, taking a sip of tea. "But you do make a fair point. Aunt Red, I would still like you to come stay with us." Angelina nodded. Ciel studied the tea cup he held in his hand. "What sort of tea is this? It has a peculiar flavor."

Angelina lifted the lid of the teapot and frowned.

"These look like bay leaves…" she said. "Forgive me, my butler is rather incompetent. He shall need to focus a bit more. I do believe that there will be an ideal opportunity for this should we stay at your home for a bit of time. Perhaps Sebastian can assist him."

Grell fought the intense urge to scream as Sebastian looked at her and gave that peculiar, disconcerting smile.


	15. Red in Boredom

The past five days had been entirely intolerable and more than just mildly irritating to Grell, whose overall consensus with the state of affairs amounted to the increasing urge saw something or someone in half. It had been a week. An entire week since she had been able to venture out into the night and deliver swift justice. It had also, regrettably, been an entire week since she had been under the instruction of Sebastian, who was in her opinion excessively pretentious and all too reminiscent of William T. Spears. She entirely lacked any form of motivation to improve her skills as a butler and was at this point continuing to make tea with assorted revolting spices and occasionally substituting salt for sugar. Angelina became increasingly irritated with her, which Grell perceived as entirely fair. Thanks to Angelina and her pompous nephew, their plans had been cast asunder.

With a sigh and a toss of her hair, Grell drifted in and out of listening to the conversation currently taking place. Supposedly there had been no more recent news regarding the Jack the Ripper case. No small wonder, seeing as Jack the Ripper had been preoccupied with things such as laundry, crumpet-making, and currently carriage-driving. She was under only the vague impression of where they were actually headed, which is in no circumstances a desirable characteristic in a carriage driver. They had entered a particularly bleak area of town, in which a majority of the storefronts were of a gray, soot-stained quality. It was altogether unattractive. She reigned in the horses in response to a shouted command from Ciel, who had been sitting inside the carriage with Angelina, Sebastian, and a peculiar man with lidded eyes who smelled heavily of poppies and smoke. The latter she was relatively wary of, as he seemed to speak in riddles and lose his train of thought as though he were only partially conscious, which she rather suspected he was.

The peculiar trio exited the carriage and stood in front of the nearest building, which proclaimed on a worn sign, "Undertaker". Grell hopped off the carriage as well and stood beside Angelina.

She was about to ask what they were doing in such a distasteful place before the man with lidded eyes, whom she now vaguely recalled was referred to as Lau, asked the same question and was met with shouts of derision. Apparently it had been he who had suggested that they stop here for information. Grell gathered as much from Angelina loudly shouting in her ear, apparently misjudging Lau's distance.

Ciel had, in this short time, cracked open the door, which shed a large layer of dust. He entered the building and the others followed. Grell looked behind herself cautiously. She half expected something to cause the door to slam shut, leaving her trapped in a room with a significant infestation problem and grievously poor interior design. She stepped inside and cringed behind Angelina.

"Undertaker? Are you here?" Ciel asked the darkness dryly. He was answered by a chuckle, a cackle, almost, that seemed to echo throughout the room. Grell was reminded of something in the back of her head that she couldn't quite place.

"I knew you would come, Earl Phantomhive," the voice chuckled. "Perhaps it's fiiiiiinally time for you to try one of my coffins."

There was a loud creaking noise as a coffin propped up against the wall slid open slowly. Grell let out a small shriek of surprise as a tall figure emerged from it, grinning. The figure was clothed all in black and gray, with a battered top hat and gray hair that hung in strands over his face.

"I do believe I know why you're here, Earl...you want to know," the Undertaker chuckled again, tossing his head back. "...about the murders, don't you? The Ripper...creeping along…"

"Do you know something?" Ciel asked dryly.

"Do sit, we'll have tea," the Undertaker said, chuckling. Grell flinched as he brushed by her. He was familiar...it was strange. She still couldn't quite place him, no matter how hard she tried.

"You know…" the Undertaker continued. "This last woman...she wasn't the first...there have been others...and most aaaaall of them with one little thing in common."

Grell froze. She was well aware that it would be idiotic to underestimate her pursuers. It was only logical that they had noticed the common factor, although it seemed that prior to the Undertaker's statement, Ciel had been under the impression that Elizabeth Stride was the first victim. The child was not as intelligent as he seemed. Grell supposed she could use his blind spots to her advantage. If only there could be a way to ensure that she and Angelina could be eliminated as suspects…

Grell drifted away in thought for several minutes, and came to only as Angelina pushed her out the door with Ciel and Lau.

"What's going on?" Grell whispered to her.

"Hell if I know," Angelina muttered darkly. "Apparently Sebastian's making him laugh for information? I don't understand why, exactly, but I don't believe this coot has anything that could make us look guilty…"

Grell stood next to her in silence before she jumped at a ridiculously loud, high-pitched cackle that shattered the air with its mirth. Sebastian flung open the doors and beckoned for the three to come back inside. Grell entered last, behind Angelina, and stood next to her as she sat down cautiously on a coffin.

"Well, Earl…" the Undertaker chuckled, still nearly hyperventilating from laughter. "I'll tell you now...the common link between those women...is that…" he fell into another bout of laughter. "...their uteruses are missing."

Grell was not particularly surprised by the fact that this had been noticed...as it happened, only one woman had actually completely lost her womb. The others had been partially started and then interrupted...however, it was easy enough to tell that the removal of the uterus had been intended. She proceeded to tune out for the remainder of the conversation that took place once Ciel began pondering aloud the potential meaning of such a commonality in the victims. It was certainly beneficial that the primary investigator of such a serious case was not only a child, but also the only living relative of the murderer. Grell was certain that the boy would never suspect his own aunt.

"Another thing…" the Undertaker added. "...it's not the work of an amateur. It seems as though the killer is veeeery methodical. As though they've had medical training, it might seem."

Grell stiffened slightly at this. There weren't a great many doctors with the capabilities of sneaking out to off prostitutes, nor were there many with a motive to. That little piece of information...it could pose a problem.

::::::::::::::::::

"Let's go over this again," Angelina whispered to Grell. "Once we're there...you'll need to hang around me a lot, but of course with me being so radiant and charismatic, you'll fade into the background. Leave for fifteen minutes at the most, find Eddowes and kill her, make sure the uterus is gone, then clean yourself and come back. Move quickly."

Grell nodded silently and smirked. She had become increasingly confident in their capabilities to create an alibi. Tonight they had accompanied Ciel and Sebastian to a ball of sorts at the home of some...count? Vicar? Yes, Viscount. That was his title, Grell recalled with some degree of self-satisfaction. He had been narrowed down as a suspect with no alibi. Of course, by committing a murder while he was preoccupied hosting a party, Grell was clearing his name as well as Angelina's, but she was not concerned with this. There were most likely at least a few other suspects.

They entered the building, walking in behind Ciel, who was currently posing as Angelina's niece. Grell, though she was certainly opposed to most of Ciel's detestable qualities, could most certainly admit that Ciel made a rather pretty girl.

Angelina immediately began chatting with another woman, and Grell began to scan the room. These people all seemed entirely average and not particularly intelligent at that. No one would notice if she left a bit early. She nudged Angelina slightly, who shot her a slight glance and nodded almost unintelligibly.

Grell gave the room another scan to make sure no one was watching. She caught Sebastian's eye briefly and was taken aback. She could have sworn his eyes flashed a peculiar color...some sort of pink or magenta. Demon eyes. She shook her head, certainly she had imagined it. To imagine that Sebastian was anything other than a butler would be ludicrous. But...his relationship with Ciel was peculiar. It seemed as though they were far too close for a butler and a master. Perhaps they did have a demonic contract…

She waited until he began speaking to Ciel before she stepped quietly away until she reached a window, flipped it open, and jumped.

She had missed gliding through the air like this. Grell unbuttoned her coat and let it fly behind her. The night air was freezing cold, but the wind was perfect. She laughed into the night. How beautiful it was to see the darkness and feel it around her. She was a phantom and she felt unseen and wild. Even when her hair was red she hadn't felt like this. There was something wonderful about being invisible in this way. Invisible with a broken heart, the mind of a killer and the strength of a god.


	16. Red Bloodthirsty

She was lost in her thoughts as she plummeted from the sky, landing softer than usual on the ground behind a dark haired woman. Grell crept quietly behind her and quickly slapped her hand over the woman's mouth, then yanked her backwards into the shadows. She walked briskly, dragging Catherine Eddowes under one arm, shutting out muffled screams and attempted kicks. She would see red tonight. Certainly, she had to be quick about it, but she would see red, her color so dearly beloved.

Grell glanced up at the clock tower. It had been two minutes and fifteen seconds since she had left. Still plenty of time. She hurried over to the door of a dilapidated warehouse and kicked it open, hurrying inside. She pulled a scalpel she had pinched from Angelina's bureau and sliced open Catherine's throat. After what Grell estimated to be forty-five seconds of struggling, the woman finally shuddered still after a period of gurgling sounds. She was drenched in a gorgeous red down the front of her dress, some of which had splattered up onto Grell's coat. Grell laughed shrilly and dropped her hand from Catherine's mouth, letting the woman's head smack to the ground.

As blood continued to pool around the fallen body, Grell hopped outside the warehouse to check on the time. Five minutes and twenty seconds. Still time. She pulled out the scalpel again and sat down next to the corpse, laughing slightly to herself. Red was really such a lovely color, with so much life, yet seen with so much death around it. It was contradictory, but in a powerful way. She began to slice away the clothing around Catherine's abdomen, and began humming absently to herself.

She was rather uninclined to consider exactly what she was doing and for what reasons. She thought vaguely of William as she made the first incision in Catherine's stomach. Perhaps he had already forgotten that she had ever existed. Perhaps he was so utterly disgusted with her that he was not even willing to come after her. Grell pushed these thoughts out of her mind. She would not allow him, he who had tossed her aside, to influence her current task. She ripped off a piece of Catherine's flesh, splattering blood over the surroundings. Grell thrust her hand into the wound cavity and pulled out what she identified as a kidney. She cut it out and tossed it aside, then sliced further into the abdomen. She wasn't quite as experienced in anatomy as Angelina, but she was sure she would be able to find the womb without too many further problems.

Grell, becoming frustrated, ripped apart more of Catherine's abdominal flesh and thrust her hand back inside. She dragged out more unidentifiable organs until she finally located the uterus, a fleshy pocket-like mass, and cut it out, tossing it aside. Finally she was finished. She looked over herself with admiration and something in between disgust and utter satisfaction. Her hands were red and dripping up to the middle of her forearm and as she touched her face, she felt drops of blood on her cheeks. She flicked out her tongue and tasted the rusty iron flavor. Her teeth sharpened and she made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a shriek. With that, she summoned her chainsaw.

Reaper scythes, as I feel inclined to explain, are more often than not hidden from sight. They possess a similar trait to the reapers themselves, in that the wielder is able to alter the mass of their weapon for the purposes of blending in with humans, who are generally not inclined to notice the scythes. The mass altering serves to eliminate accidental injuries to humans. Of course, as in Grell's case, this ability was being entirely ignored in favor of instead causing further damage.

Grell revved up the chainsaw and thrust it into the chest of Catherine Eddowes. She was not surprised to see no cinematic record. Clearly William was still ensuring that she had no business continuing to reap souls. Nothing left to do here.

She leapt gracefully out the door. Twelve minutes and fifty seconds. Still enough time. Grell ran and jumped to the sky. She began scanning for some sort of fountain to clean herself in. She growled in frustration, then, after checking the clock, which had just reached thirteen minutes and ten seconds, she resigned herself to the Thames. It was across the city, but she could make it in time, and though perhaps not the cleanest water in the city, she was not at all inclined to spend valuable time looking for something better. She landed on a rooftop and ran as quickly as she could to build up enough momentum to make the flight. After jumping, she breathed heavily as the wind hit her cheeks and began to dry the blood, causing it to flake away. Perhaps this would speed up her cleaning process sufficiently. She took note of her cloak, which was beginning to stiffen from blood. She made the decision that it would be considerably easier to simply discard it while she was in the air rather than attempt to salvage it and dry it in time.

With that in mind, she unclasped it from her shoulders and tossed it to the wind, then landed near the banks of the Thames. She quickly splashed water over her face and into her hair, then scrubbed the blood from her hands and arms. The stains were barely noticeable thanks to the cold water. Grell untied and retied her ponytail, then, after flipping the wet strands of hair from her face, she shook the water from her hands and took off at a run again, estimating that she had perhaps no more than forty-five seconds remaining. She floated into the air.

"I can still make it," she chuckled, laughing at the night as she whipped through the air. Hopefully Angelina had managed to cover up her absence for the quarter hour she had been gone. She was so close...perhaps with twenty seconds left. She finally approached the Viscount's manor and slipped back in through the window, then proceeded to stand up, brush off her coat, grab a flute of champagne, and hand it to Angelina, who was standing not three feet away.

"Cheers, Madam Burnett," Grell smiled widely at her.

"Three...two...one. Finished with time to spare," Angelina murmured quietly. "I'm a bit worried that Sebastian noticed you were gone, as he's been shooting me peculiar looks for most of the night. But you didn't notice anything strange while you were out doing business?"

"Done without a hitch," Grell nodded. "I must say, I can see how you get the rush for it, it's rather liberating and quite a good stress reliever."

Angelina nodded and took a sip of champagne.

"I quite agree. While you were gone, it seems that Ciel slipped off somewhere with the Viscount, so I do believe that we won't need to stay around for too much longer. Of course, we must make sure that people are well aware that we've been here for an ample amount of time. I should say that within an hour or so we can head back to the townhouse and look for our next little lady," she stated, surveying the room. "Then again, these people are getting rather tipsy...perhaps a half hour will suffice."

Grell nodded, and gazed out over the overly joyful, slightly stumbling people in the crowd. She considered how happy they were now, how carefree. How very soon all of this would change as they discovered that there was yet another victim of the Ripper had been subjected to the mangling of her knife.


	17. Red Pondering

It was the evening after Catherine Eddowes' unfortunate death, and at this time the Phantomhive townhouse was entirely silent, save for the occasional shifting in position or clink of a teacup. Grell was maintaining an air of indifference, well aware that as soon as the evening paper arrived, the silence would be broken, as the Scotland Yard was more than likely to have discovered Eddowes' body. Then, as she mulled over in her mind whilst carrying a tea tray over to the kitchen counter to begin setting it, Ciel would most likely have an intense crushing of self-esteem and confidence in his deductive skills. If she were lucky, the child would have enough sense to drop the case before it became a greater hindrance.

There was a brief knock at the door, which Grell recognized as the post, and likely meant that the paper had been delivered. She set the tray down and walked across the hall, then opened the door and examined the headline in front of her. The Ripper Still at Large! Unoriginal and trite, certainly, but she couldn't help smirking to herself. At least the police force was doing their job to a certain extent, though there were now exactly zero leads.

With a slight spring in her step, she pushed some loose strands of hair from her face and took the paper back to the kitchen, where she deliberately placed it on the tea tray next to the sugar dish, which she had earlier emptied and replaced with salt. She had no reason to serve them a proper tea, just as Angelina had no reason to order her to do every bit of tea service when there was another perfectly capable butler in the house who seemed to have no trouble with any manual task and was considerably more coordinated and less distracted. With that bitter thought in mind, she picked up the tea tray and made her way to the sitting room.

She entered to hear the same silence. Ciel seemed to be in deep thought with no real expression on his face. Sebastian was standing in equal silence, but his eyes seemed to move about the room as though attempting to catch any hint of strange behavior. Grell did not notice a pink flash to them at the moment, but she was certain that her initial identification of him as a demon had not been amiss. There was still something inherently peculiar about him, and she was still certain that his attachment to Ciel was certainly more than that of a simple servant.

With that thought, she set down the tea tray and handed the newspaper to Ciel, who flipped it over to view the front page.

¨Dammit!¨

Grell jumped and dropped the tea tray on the floor. She hissed under her breath in frustration and shot a look of derision at Ciel, whose outburst had taken her unpleasantly by surprise. She silently began to pick up the fallen teacups and attempted to sop up some of the tea from the carpet.

¨What's going on?" Angelina asked, startled. She glanced up from the book she had appeared to have been reading, but in reality, she was examining patient records in search for the next victim. Grell softly kicked her in warning, and she closed the book.

"There's been another one," Ciel growled furiously. "The Viscount is off the list now...we were at the party all night and took him into custody at the end. It's impossible...there are no more suspects, because they were all…" he trailed off.

"Master, perhaps it is time to retire for the night," Sebastian interjected quietly. "Madam Burnett and Mister Sutcliff...it would be best for you to do the same. We can take a fresh look at all the old suspects in the morning."

"Yes...of course you're right, Sebastian…" Ciel nodded. "Goodnight Aunt Red," he turned to Sebastian. "Draw a bath for me, I'll be along soon."

Grell silently set the teacups back on the tray and deposited the tray upon the parlor table. Ciel was sitting despondently, staring into space. Grell hesitated, debating whether or not to offer him some type of false encouragement. She decided not, and turned instead to Angelina.

"Madam, let us retire," she said quietly. Angelina nodded, then picked up her book and followed. Once Grell was certain that Ciel was no longer in earshot, she spoke again.

"I have to admit, I don't know how much longer it's going to be, sweetheart," she whispered to Angelina. "Sebastian is not human, I'm fairly certain of it."

Angelina started.

"He's not like you, is he…?"

"No...he's...I'm almost sure he's a demon," Grell replied hesitantly.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Angelina asked, her face having paled slightly.

"I don't know at this point...most demons are considerably weaker than reapers. Even the strong ones I shouldn't have too much trouble beating in a fight. It's being discovered that concerns me. How many women are left?" Grell inquired, shutting the door of Angelina's room softly.

"Just one more. At least, just one more that's left a proper name," she said, opening her book and removing a patient record. "Mary Jane Kelly."

Grell went silent for several moments, thinking. If this woman was really the last one, then surely she and Angelina would be able to eliminate her soon. No...soon was not even soon enough. She sighed. She knew that Angelina had requested to die if they were found, but she worried slightly that with Ciel's return, Angelina may wish to remain alive. She wanted to preserve the dignity of the woman she had at first been slightly annoyed and perplexed by, but had gradually grown to love.

"Sweetheart…" Grell began hesitantly.

"Yes, Grell?" Angelina answered, staring transfixed at the patient record.

"We should do it tonight."

Angelina looked up at Grell in mild surprise.

"What's the rush? We could just as well go tomorrow, not to mention-"

"No, I think it's best that we go tonight," Grell said firmly. "There's a chance that if we go now, especially since Mary Kelly is the last one, Ciel won't catch on in time and we'll get away with it."

"Why is it so important that we don't get caught? There aren't any human consequences that can touch you, and I've already told you what I want to happen…" Angelina sat down on the edge of her bed and absently examined her fingernails. Grell narrowed her eyes slightly at the woman across from her.

"I don't want you to die, Angie. Not yet, at least. You have more to live for, especially since your nephew is alive. That's why we have to go tonight. We need to finish it so that you can...I don't know...be happy," Grell said, throwing her hands into the air in frustration. "I'll miss you if you're gone, you daft little human, even though you've taken to ordering me around and you've made me change my hair even though yours is just as garish." Grell finished, tugging on a piece of Angelina's hair pointedly.

Angelina smiled slightly.

"And I'm sure I'll miss you too, wherever I end up. Thank you for everything you've done for me, Grell, but really. We'll all be gone someday. I don't want my life to fizzle away like nothing...I want to be gone like a bright, searing flame. That's what my life should be…" she trailed off. "But if you want us to finish it tonight, then we'll go."

Grell nodded.

"Thank you, Angie...there's a chance we'll be caught tonight anyway, but at least I can guarantee that the end of your life will be meaningful, should you die tonight," she went silent for a moment. "Now...I think it's best that we leave. Do get your coat, it's cold tonight," Grell smiled slightly. "We can finish this together."

Angelina sighed.

"All right," she said, standing up and pulling her coat on. She seemed to hesitate slightly, then embraced Grell and hugged her tightly. Grell stood rather stiffly. She could not recall the last time anyone had hugged her. It must have been when she was still human. She awkwardly placed her arms around Angelina and smiled.

"Oh sweetie…" she said softly.

Angelina let go of her.

"Grell, here's what's going to happen. We're going to off Kelly tonight, just as we planned, then no matter what happens after that, you need to go back to...wherever it is you came from. You don't really belong here. And I think there's still something in your heart. I don't know if it's completely anger, but I doubt it is. You still love him, don't you?" she studied Grell's face, who refused to meet her gaze.

"Even if I did, it wouldn't matter," Grell said obstinately.

"Yes it would, and it does. You still have meaning," Angelina said firmly. "Promise me you'll go back."

Grell breathed deeply and looked down.

"Fine."

"Thank you. Now, let's head out while it's still dark."

::::::::::::::::::::::::

The interior of the Whitechapel warehouse was dim, as the only light in the room radiated from a small lantern hanging in one of the corners. The floors were damp with what Grell supposed was mostly water, though she wouldn't entirely discount the possibility of this being a popular place for murder.

Mary Jane Kelly lay unconscious on the floor of the room, having been strangled to the point of fainting by Angelina after the pair had managed to drag her inside unseen. Angelina bent over the body with her knife held above her head. She brought her arm down with a flash and sliced the woman's throat, releasing a spurt of blood. Grell looked on with what had initially been sadness and had now been replaced by bloodlust. Red. It was so beautiful, like a wave of emotions. Pain, love, and sorrow all at once. Angelina had cut apart Mary Kelly's dress and was beginning to slice into the abdomen. Grell tapped her on the shoulder. Angelina glanced up.

"Let me finish this, Angie," Grell smiled widely, allowing her teeth to show. Angelina nodded as a grin spread across her face. Grell took the knife from her and flipped it into the air, catching it by the blade and cutting her finger. She licked the wound and felt the pupils of her eyes dilate rapidly. She gripped the knife by the handle and slammed it into Mary Kelly's throat, then dragged it down the length of her body. She was not entirely sure what she was doing, but she had to see more of that beautiful red color that was flowing over the floor.

She leaned down and dug her hands into the cut stretching across the woman's body and felt the rib cage. She yanked it apart with a loud cracking noise and began humming softly to herself.

"Lungs...you only need those if you're going to breathe, darling," she laughed and ripped them out one at a time, tossing them to Angelina's feet.

"And you don't need this…" She cut out the stomach and tossed it aside. "...or this…" She did the same with the liver. "...and aaaaall this is completely unnecessary…" She unraveled the intestines and chopped them out.

Grell directed her attention back to the top of the chest cavity to a small organ the size of her fist that was still managing to pulsate slightly despite the lack of necessity, as though it were trying to revive its long dead mistress. It infuriated her. She grasped Mary Kelly's heart in her fist and cut it free.

"You don't need this. No one needs this. It's not worth it to have a heart, it'll cause you nothing but pain, darling. Believe me, because I have one, and…" she stopped, alarmed by the warm feeling of tears running down her cheeks and leaving red streaks from the blood splatters. She let out a heaving, gasping sigh and looked at her hands, then at Mary Kelly's body. She felt Angelina's hand on her shoulder.

"You're right you know...it's not worth it," Angelina said. Grell turned to look at her. She was smiling sadly.

Grell looked back at Mary Kelly's mutilated corpse.

"Well, I think we're done he-"

She was interrupted by the warehouse door whipping open and banging loudly. She jumped back and grabbed Angelina by the wrist, dragging her back into the shadows.


	18. Red Mourning

The clanging of the door still echoed and Grell shuddered into the darkness. It had happened. Her time was here and there was nothing left that she could do to avoid it. She turned to Angelina, who was sitting, stone-like, in the corner of the warehouse. She felt slightly guilty, to some extent. She hadn't wanted Angelina to worry about ever being caught, but she had underestimated the situation. Neither of them had calculated the possibility of another ethereal being. Angelina glanced up at her with fevered eyes.

"Go," she whispered.

Grell nodded. Perhaps there was still something she could do to avoid the ramifications, or at least momentarily keep Angelina safe and give her enough time to get away. She breathed deeply.

"You've made quite a bloody mess of things in there, haven't you...Ripper," a dry voice stated from outside. The voice chuckled. Grell froze. Sebastian. She smirked slightly. If it came to a fight...she would win. She had to. She wiped the smirk from her face and adopted a look of terrified bewilderment. After checking that her teeth had rounded down, she stumbled through the door of the warehouse.

"No- no, you don't understand, I heard the screams and rushed to help-" she bleated pathetically, her eyes darting around frantically. Sebastian and Ciel stood in front of the door, clearly able to see the mangled corpse of Mary Jane Kelly.

"You can drop the innocent act, Mister Grell," Sebastian said in his dry, mocking voice. "Unless of course that name is an act as well...you were very convincing, I have to admit."

Grell smiled widely, well aware of the fact that her teeth were sharpening rapidly. She flicked her tongue out and licked a fleck of blood from the corner of her mouth.

"Is that so…" she laughed, pulling the red ribbon from her hair and letting it fall to the ground. She pulled a comb from her jacket pocket and ran it through her hair, allowing the red to reappear and the dull brown to vanish. She sighed giddily. Her hair hadn't been red in such a long time. She felt like herself again.

"Of course, I am an actress…" she tossed aside the round glasses she could scarcely see properly out of, then pulled her red, chained glasses from her inside pocket and pushed them onto her nose. She had nearly forgotten what it was like to see clearly. The world seemed so much sharper and clearer. "...and quite a good one at that," she continued, pulling on her black leather gloves over the bloodstains and cuts on her hands.

"You're not Sebastian, either, so you've got no right to tell me I'm pretending," she smiled widely and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Let me introduce myself. I am Grell Sutcliff, butler to the Burnett house. We're both 'butlers', aren't we?" She made air quotes with her fingers mockingly. "Perhaps we can get along." She blew a kiss in Sebastian's direction, and he noticeably flinched.

"I must admit I'm rather surprised. I never expected one of your people to be posing as a butler. You're more intended to be the middle agent between life and death...a grim reaper," Sebastian chuckled dryly.

"Well yes, of course, but that does get a bit boring, eh? It's so nice to appear before you in my true form, you know, brown is such a dreadfully dull hair color," Grell trilled, adjusting the long, artificial eyelashes situated on her eyelid.

Sebastian twitched slightly.

"Stop trying to digress. Why are you here?" he asked, frowning.

Grell smiled softly.

"It was all out of love for a certain woman," she said, sighing slightly. She didn't want to incriminate Angelina, but it was obvious, really.

"You don't even need to ask who, do you?"

Grell turned around and saw Angelina, who had apparently come to the same conclusion. Angelina caught her eye and nodded slowly, her eyes hard and sad. So this was the end. Grell's face stiffened slightly. She nodded back. Angelina turned to her nephew and his butler.

"I really did miscalculate...I never expected there would be someone on your side who could see through Grell's disguise," Angelina remarked, standing next to Grell and crossing her arms.

"It scarcely mattered," Ciel replied coldly. "You were on the suspect list to begin with, but your alibi for the night of the fourth murder was flawless."

Angelina laughed slightly.

"You even went as far as to suspect your own dear Aunt Red?" she smiled. "I'm offended, Ciel."

"I was trying to find a murderer, the degree of relation to me was irrelevant," Ciel said, still in his cold voice. "You were the only two possible culprits. Obviously a human couldn't have committed the crimes, and Sebastian ascertained that you, Grell Sutcliff, were far from normal."

Grell shrugged and grinned widely. It was time for them to end with a bang.

Here I feel I must interject. I am opposed to the actions Grell took to express the problems she was facing, but I cannot say that there were other options for her. She was broken, and as her psych evaluation had stated, she had a tenuous grasp on reality. It is neither logical nor appropriate to blame her for the wrongs she committed, because when taking into consideration her background and her consistent instances of emotional distress, her problems become less dismissible as infractions and more logically explained as the fault of her surroundings. However, it would be quite some time before this was realized by anyone other than Grell herself.

Angelina Dalles then slowly pulled her six inch knife from the sleeve of her dress and held it at her side.

"Of course…" Ciel continued. "I had every intent of saving Mary Jane Kelly, but Sebastian and I were too late."

Grell noticed Angelina begin to shake slightly in anger.

"How could you ever think of saving her...you...you shouldn't have been born in the first place!" Angelina screamed, raising her knife and slashing at Ciel's arm. Sebastian abruptly jumped in front of her to stop the blow. Grell bared her teeth, summoned her chainsaw and raced at him, slamming him against the brick wall.

"Stay away from where you're not wanted, Sebby, you wouldn't want to get cut," she smirked, as the blade of her chainsaw inched closer to his shoulder and started to tear the fabric. "Then again, it's so much more fun when it hurts a little," she laughed shrilly.

Sebastian glared at her, then caught a glimpse of Angelina, who was hovering over Ciel and preparing to strike him again.

"Master!" Sebastian shouted, pushing past Grell's chainsaw and slicing his arm on its teeth. Grell gasped in surprise at the rush of red that flowed from the wound and splashed up onto her scythe.

By the time Sebastian had reached Ciel, Angelina had collapsed into tears.

"I can't kill him...not my sister's child...not Vincent's child…" she sobbed, turning blindly to face Sebastian.

Grell wrenched her chainsaw from the wall and looked expectantly at Angelina.

"You're saying this now?" she asked, mildly incredulous. She was relatively certain of what Angelina was saying. "After killing all those women?"

Angelina met Grell's eyes and nodded.

"I can't kill him…" she choked out sadly. Grell nodded infinitesimally and revved her chainsaw.

"Then what more use do I have for you, if you're just another woman?" she hissed slightly in an attempt to convince herself that she would not cry. She could not cry. She was not weak. She did not need a heart. Angelina's time was over. They had been caught, and as per Angelina's request, she would die. Grell closed her eyes and shoved the quickly rotating blade into Angelina's chest. She would not cry. Not as she heard the crunch of bone against metal, and not as she heard the last dying gasp of the only person who had ever understood her, or as she felt the splash of blood against her face. No. She would remain strong.

She opened her eyes once she heard the soft clicking of the cinematic record spurling from Angelina's fallen body. How cruel. It seemed that William had left her with not the records of irrelevant whores, but rather forced her to examine the life of someone she held so dear to her heart.

Angelina's life flashed before her in a blur. She witnessed the soft, eager anticipation as a young Angelina was first introduced to Vincent Phantomhive, followed not long after by the crushing heartbreak of her sister's marriage announcement. She felt the determination to be happy as Angelina began her life with Gregory Burnett, followed again by further heartbreak at the death of Gregory and her unborn child. She felt the sorrow at the deaths of Rachel and Vincent, followed by the cold, hard thirst for vengeance that managed to be sprinkled with moments of thoughtless mirth at the humorous moments between the red reaper and the red madam.

"Goodbye...Madam Red," Grell said quietly, looking down at Angelina's now lifeless body. She started to turn away, then hesitated. She sat on the ground and pulled off Angelina's red coat. She stood and slipped her arms into the sleeves, then quickly realized it was too small to properly fit over her shoulders. The thought made her eyebrows twitch slightly in annoyance. She had been posing as a man for a considerable amount of time, and had come close to forgetting the bother of wearing dresses and more feminine clothing. She sighed, letting the coat shrug off her shoulders as she turned to walk away.


	19. Red Aching

Grell was mentally exhausted. She couldn't bear the idea of going back to face William, knowing what she had done and knowing that if she were thrown out of the dispatch she wouldn't have anywhere to go now that Angelina was gone. She shook slightly as she took a few steps away from Sebastian and Ciel. She was struggling not to cry, and she continually told herself that it didn't matter, that Angelina would have died eventually anyway, but guilt flowed over her heart.

"Sebastian. As I recall I told you to put an end to Jack the Ripper, and there is still one of them left. Go," Ciel said coldly. Grell turned around slowly to face the two.

"You know, I was going to let you off easy and head home...but if you insist, I'll gladly send you to heaven," Grell snarled, her eyes flashing. She had no inclination to fight, but clearly if Sebastian insisted she wasn't going to simply slide away in defeat. "I warn you, I'm in a very rotten mood, so if I make you suffer don't come crying to me."

Sebastian smirked at her and lunged. She dodged a kick that he had leveled at her and gasped dramatically.

"How dare you, sir!" she snarled. "How dare you try to kick a lady in the face!"

"Oh? I must have missed something, I see no lady present," Sebastian remarked sarcastically. "Now do quiet down, I'm trying to kill you."

"Pish. As if a demon could defeat a goddess," Grell laughed loudly, swinging her chainsaw at him, which he easily evaded.

"I believe I can, after all, my master has ordered me to, therefore I shall," Sebastian replied matter-of-factly. Grell rolled her eyes.

"You're so devoted to that little kid," she sneered. "I'm jealous." She stopped, surprised at her statement and almost allowed herself to be caught off guard by one of Sebastian's kicks aimed at her face once again. She supposed she was jealous of Ciel. After all, he had someone who bowed to his every whim and would always be there. And to boot, it was someone who was really quite attractive. She had no one. The realization struck a chord somewhere in her soul. She narrowed her eyes and bared her teeth, feeling her pupils dilate.

"I hope you're ready for me to take this seriously. The cinematic record of a demon must be exceptionally interesting," she snarled, taking a running start and slashing her blade across Sebastian's chest. A wave of blood surged out, quickly followed by a reel of film that began to play as Sebastian hung motionless, suspended in midair. Grell observed it with disinterest. Nothing but daily chores and three peculiar figures who seemed to destroy everything they touched.

"How dreadfully dull," she hissed angrily. "This isn't what I signed up for...where's all the juicy stuff?"

"My apologies. It seems you'll have to pay a bit more for the whole show," Sebastian smirked, and crouched down as though preparing to spring. Grell squinted slightly. There appeared to be a figure standing behind him...a figure carrying some type of pole. She froze. William. William was watching her. She let out a shrill laugh. Very well.

"My dearest, darling Sebastian…" Grell laughed, jumping up above him. "You're a raven with the wings of a dove…"

"What are you going on about?" Sebastian inquired distastefully.

"Your icy look is giving me chills, my love. I daresay we're just like Romeo and Juliet…" she jumped around him spastically, turning her head around in the certainty that William was still watching. She wanted to see his face; she wanted him to know there was nothing special about him, and that she was perfectly capable of moving on. "I'd bear your children if only you'd let me," she trilled, twirling around on the rooftop.

"That is both revolting and biologically impossible," Sebastian grimaced and shuddered. He sighed and removed his tailcoat, which had been torn irreparably by Grell's chainsaw. "You know, this is one thing I didn't want to resort to, but you leave me with no choice…" he said, sighing again melodramatically.

Grell smiled widely, her razor teeth glistening in the moonlight.

"Darling, I'm so glad you've decided to fight me seriously," she grinned, then lunged at him with her blade held high above her head. She was just about to slice through the top of his head when the buzz of her saw stopped unexpectedly. She fell to the ground in surprise.

"W-what the hell…" she muttered, flipping the saw over to reveal the tailcoat caught tightly in the motor. She tugged at it fruitlessly and desperately tried to reverse the motor to free the coat, but to no avail. Her fingers began shaking. "No...no...no…" she muttered, her voice rising sharply in pitch. She cringed and glanced up as Sebastian loomed over her.

"Well...earlier you were giving me a bit of trouble, but now that you don't have your little toy anymore, I'm rather confident that I can win," he said, grinning widely, his eyes flashing a bright fuchsia.

"No...please no…" Grell begged. "Don't hurt my face...please…ack!" She shrieked as Sebastian lifted his fist and slammed it into her cheek. She closed her eyes and tried to shut out the pain as he lifted her up by her hair, tossed her into the air and kicked her directly in the nose, sending her spiraling off the roof.

"Please...just stop…" she choked, tears welling in her eyes as she struggled to sit up, cringing at the pain from her head smashing into the pavement. Her nose was broken, she was entirely sure based on the sharp, stabbing ache she felt and the warm blood that was running down over her mouth. Sebastian landed next to her and kicked her back to the ground. Tears of pain ran down her cheeks.

"No, not yet," he smiled crookedly, raising Grell's chainsaw over his head and effortlessly pulling the material from the motor, which promptly resumed running. "Death scythes are interesting, aren't they...they can make mincemeat out of anything. Therefore it follows…" he started to swing it over his head. "...that I would be able to make mincemeat out of you."

"Please don't kill me!" Grell shrieked, cringing at the pain of opening her mouth. "Please! No! I can tell you who killed that kid's parents! Just don't kill me!" She threw her arms over her head, crying out. She caught a glimpse of the saw swishing through the air towards her, just about to slice her into unidentifiable pieces when…

Click.

An impossibly quick series of clicking noises reached Grell's ears, and were followed by a loud grinding noise of metal against metal. The chainsaw stopped. Grell cautiously looked up.

"Begging your pardon," an incredibly bored voice stated matter-of-factly. "My name is William T. Spears and I've come to collect that reaper there."

Grell struggled to sit up, her arms shaking.

"William! Will! You came to save m-" she was cut off sharply by William jumping from the roof landing on her head, smashing it into the pavement. She felt more warm liquid rushing over her face that she could not identify as either blood or tears. She was, however, quite certain that she had heard her skull crack.

She cringed on the ground in pain. She couldn't move, outside of her arms slightly twitching. William ground his heel into the back of her head and she cried out.

"Grell Sutcliff," he addressed her. "You have violated several regulations of the Grim Reaper Dispatch. Firstly, you have used a death scythe that has been modified against the weapon guidelines provided by the Dispatch."

"You approved it," Grell moaned into the pavement, wincing as William stomped on her head again.

"Secondly," William raised his voice slightly. "You have killed humans not slated to die. And thirdly, you have offered someone strictly classified information regarding the identity of his relatives' killer."

William stepped off Grell's head and bowed to Sebastian.

"I apologize for the trouble that this has caused you, especially since it forces me to bow to a noxious wretch like you. Please accept my card and we will be on our way," he stated coldly.

Sebastian tossed the card over his shoulder.

"Come, Grell, we're leaving," William addressed Grell, who was laying on the ground whimpering in pain. He grasped her by the end of her long red hair and dragged her along behind him.

"You've forgotten something," Sebastian remarked, tossing the chainsaw to William, who caught it effortlessly with two fingers.

"It appears I have," William replied. "Thank you," he said, dropping the chainsaw onto Grell's stomach. Grell shrieked in pain and coughed, splattering blood over the ground.

"W-will…" Grell choked. She was already hurting enough, did he really have to drag her along like this? How insensitive.

As they retreated into the shadows, William began talking to her.

"So you somehow, in that twisted mind of yours, decided that you were going to run off and play house with some equally twisted woman, kill innocent people, skip out on work, and graciously bestow upon me a ludicrous amount of unpaid overtime?" he stated coldly, yanking at her hair.

Grell attempted to curl into a ball as she was dragged along. She didn't want to hear what she had done wrong. She knew it all.

"Your hearing will be sometime this week," William continued. He waited for a response from Grell but received none. "Until then, you will be under observation and most likely in solitary confinement. I wouldn't be surprised if you were fired. You'll be suspended for at least a few months. Do you even realize the implications of what you've done?" he hissed under his breath, and Grell could tell that his hands were twitching based on the spastic tugging on her hair.

She remained silent and gingerly touched her nose. It was most certainly broken. She winced at the blood that was gradually beginning to dry and flake above her lips.

"Will you stop for a moment?" she asked William in a monotone voice. He obliged. She held her breath and grasped the bridge of her nose with one hand and the tip with the other and shoved it back into place. Stars flashed before her eyes and she blinked, reeling from the pain. She hoped she had managed to set it before the healing process started. If her nose ended up crooked as a result of this, she would never be able to forgive herself.

"All right, carry on, drag me away and mock me, if that's what you want," Grell turned and glared at William, who shot her an equally venomous look, then replaced it with an expression of simple exhaustion.

He sighed.

"No...it's not practical to injure you further. Forgive me if I'm being unprofessionally spiteful. I'm sure legal will be able to punish you sufficiently. Stand up, won't you?" he said, looking down at Grell and frowning slightly.

"I can't, thanks to you I can barely see. You cracked my skull, you know," Grell stated, cautiously touching the side of her head, which was a bit too pliable for her liking.

"My apologies. However, I am certain you can understand my frustration," William replied, sounding relatively bored.

"No, I can't, seeing as you're the one who drove me away," Grell frowned, looking away from him.

"What else would you have me do? Both of us are well aware of how you are," he snapped.

"You could have at least given me a chance," Grell said bitterly. She scowled at the ground as though it were personally responsible for all that had gone wrong in her life.

"Very well," William said tightly. "I apologize for my inconsideracy. However, you are not in any way now exempt from the punishments of the legal department. You still deserve every form of reparation they level at you for completely tossing aside the entire purpose of being a grim reaper." He grasped her sore arm and yanked her to her feet. She winced.

"You're so cold…" she frowned. "You really don't care what you did to me, do you?"

"I apologized, didn't I?" he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Yes, in the most bitter, grudging way possible," she snapped. "It's very hard to hate you so much and still love you at the same time, but I can't expect you to understand how that feels. I know you're an emotionless sheet. Honestly, a brick has a greater emotional capacity than you do." She wobbled slightly on her feet. Her ankle seemed to be sprained. How fabulous.

William looked at her for some time.

"We should be heading back," he finally said. Grell could not discern anything from his expression. "If you can't travel properly in your state, then I suppose I have to do this."

He awkwardly lifted her and slung her over his shoulder.

"Ow! You're hurting my ribs!" Grell protested, smacking him on the back of the head. William sighed in frustration and lowered her, then picked her up again in a slightly more cradling position.

"Will this suffice?" he asked coldly.

"Yes, thank you," Grell glowered at him, but the corners of her mouth turned slightly upward. "I hate you, but I did miss you quite a bit, you know…"

"I suppose I missed you as well. It was rather quiet, those few weeks," William remarked, and Grell was caught by surprise. She closed her eyes. Perhaps things wouldn't turn out quite as badly as she had anticipated. She silently thanked Angelina for consistently ordering her not to give up on William.


	20. Red in Solitude

Grell was at a loss for words and could scarcely form a coherent thought. She had been beaten within an inch of her life. She had nearly been left for dead on the pavement of a warehouse in Whitechapel. She had killed the best friend she had ever known. It also appeared that she had been bitterly, grudgingly, and altogether exasperatedly rescued by the man she hated and loved in equal measure. I, personally, cannot fathom her mental process at this point in time, and as she stated after this event, she cannot remember it in the clearest of details. However, she has done her utmost in retelling these experiences to me. Yet I digress.

William set her down on the sidewalk in front of the dispatch office. Grell swallowed with some degree of trepidation.

"I believe you can walk on your own; your bones seem to have begun setting properly," William stated rather stiffly.

"Fine..." Grell winced, wobbling slightly on her feet.

"If you'd stop wearing those ridiculous shoes you wouldn't have sprained your ankle in the first place," William narrowed his eyes and gestured to her red and black high heels.

"No," Grell glared at him. "I'm a lady and I'm going to wear heels."

William sighed.

"Very well," he turned to the door. "We're not going in this way, I was told to bring you around back in case you became volatile."

"Darling, I'm in no position to be volatile, just look at me," she gestured to her ripped, bloody clothing.

"I was told-"

"Even so, there's no reason for that, I'm not a common criminal, am I?" Grell rolled her eyes and pushed open the door. "I'm baaaaack," she trilled, attempting a sing-song tone but instead choking and coughing a small amount of blood onto her sleeve. She shivered slightly, thinking for the first time that perhaps she was wearing a bit too much red. She looked up. The reapers who had been meandering about in the entrance hall were staring at her as though she had crawled out of hell. One of them cleared his throat rather loudly. Grell turned to look at William, who was standing behind her with a rather irritated expression.

The reaper who had cleared his throat approached William.

"I thought we had agreed on the course of action to be taken with him," he said quietly, his eyes darting over to Grell with a dubious hesitation.

"Mister Slingby, I believe that as your superior I am granted the authority to override your opinions," William said coldly.

"Even if they are shared by the majority of the department and several of the higher-ups?" Slingby replied defiantly.

"I have permission. I made the circumstances very clear to the necessary officials. Now, if you will please let me through, I will amend the current situation," William narrowed his eyes and Slingby stepped aside grudgingly. William proceeded to walk briskly down the hall.

"Come, Gr-," he caught himself briefly. "...Sutcliff."

Grell limped slightly in the attempt to run up to him. She was bemused by the exchange that had taken place between William and the subordinate reaper. She was already aware that she was disliked by the majority of the dispatch for reasons including but not limited to her flamboyance, flirtatiousness, and one drunken instance of groin-kicking a new recruit who had attempted to kiss her. However, aside from coming in through the front door, she could not ascertain what William had done wrong.

"What was all that, darling?" she inquired, wincing slightly at her still-throbbing ankle.

"I'm not your darling," William sighed, his left eyebrow twitching.

"Of course you are. Now, do tell me before I become irritable," Grell attempted to laugh slightly, but began coughing again. William glanced at her with some level of concern.

"Are you all right?" he asked, awkwardly stretching his hand out as though he was unsure of where it belonged at the time.

"I'm fine," Grell choked, wiping her mouth off with her sleeve and shuddering to see still more blood. "Don't avoid the question."

"I wasn't," William frowned.

"Then answer it. What was he talking about?" Grell bared her teeth slightly, gradually becoming more irritated.

"It seems that many of the dispatch officers were of the opinion that you should have been left to your own devices once we received the report of your companion's upcoming death. However, I did not share their views, evidently, as it would seem that I owe you my own life and I have grown rather accustomed to you," he said stiffly.

Grell stopped in her tracks. She was simultaneously horrified at the fate the dispatch would have subjected her to and somewhat touched by what William had done.

"Oh, my dear Will, it would appear that you do have a heart," she smiled. William turned to look at her and scowled.

"I was merely repaying my debt," he said coldly.

Grell smiled.

"Of course you were, darling. Now, those officers on the other hand why on earth would anyone want me to die?" she laughed slightly without choking and attempted to twirl around, promptly tripping over her own feet and falling face down.

"I can't imagine," William rolled his eyes as Grell struggled to her feet. "Jeez..."

Grell cringed at her ankle, which seemed to have asserted itself as injured once more. She looked up at William expectantly.

"No. I'm not carrying you again. We're almost there as it is," he frowned. Grell made a noise like a derisive mouse being stepped on.

"Where are you taking me?" Grell asked, recalling that she was still relatively uncertain as to what the consequences of her actions would be. She remembered William mentioning something about a hearing, but she had forgotten the rest.

"I have to turn you over to the department of discipline. As present circumstances are, I have no idea what they will do with you. I had to agree that I would let them deal with you as they saw fit if I wanted you alive," William said tightly and Grell looked at him curiously. He almost appeared worried and she felt her heart twinge slightly. Perhaps...just perhaps...he did care about her.

"Department of discipline, hmm?" she grinned and raised her eyebrows suggestively. William sighed in exasperation.

"Grell...please..." He shook his head.

She was unaware of it, but William was in fact concerned for her well being. He cared for her, but he would never admit it unless it was painstakingly forced from him. William Theodore Spears, and I say this with the most respect I can muster, was a stubborn prick. I believe I am more entitled to make this judgement than anyone else. This painstaking process of cracking through William's barriers of paperwork, overtime, and strict adherence to the laws of the Grim Reaper Dispatch was not an overnight process, and clearly, as Grell pondered William's character, it was also not something that could be accomplished in the ninety years she had loved him, though she convinced herself that she was making progress. After all, she rationalized to herself, he had saved her life at risk of a suspension himself.

"We're here," William stated, turning to Grell.

"Yes, I see that. Now how do you propose I get in there?" she gestured to the door.

"Ah, yes," William removed a small paging device from his pocket. "Spears. Department of discipline. I request entry with Grell Sutcliff."

The door clicked open. Grell swallowed in trepidation. A black-suited reaper stood at the door.

"Spears, you're no longer needed," the reaper stated. William nodded and turned to walk down the hall. Grell silently wished he would stay, but she supposed he was on relatively thin ice already. She felt somewhat guilty for the first time since she had decided to join Angelina.

"Mister Sutcliff, for security purposes you will have to be handcuffed," the reaper stated, looking up and down at Grell disapprovingly.

"That seems a bit much, don't you think?" she frowned.

"Mister Sutcliff, you're being held here under suspicion of mental instability on the basis of assisting a human in the brutal and unscheduled murders of five prostitutes. I rather think it's justified," he said simply.

"Well aren't you just a peach," Grell snapped, then immediately regretted it as she felt her head throb from the rush of blood. "Why don't you tell me your name so I know what to call out in the heat of the night? And by the by, not all of them were unscheduled. The first few were in my casebook, so I'll thank you to check your facts."

"Do you have your casebook?" he raised his eyebrows.

"No..." Grell said tightly as she recalled kicking it into the street during one of her bouts of anger at William for cutting her off the roster.

"Then it's five unscheduled deaths. Turn around," he stated. Grell obliged, though she made a small sound of exasperation. She winced at the cold metal that was slapped around her wrists. The suited reaper turned her around and pushed her down the dimly lit hallway.

"Where are we going, peaches?" Grell asked, attempting to keep an airy tone, though she was beginning to shiver, and she was certain her ankle had swollen to twice its natural size.

"My name is Arnold," the reaper hissed. "You're going into questioning."

"Thanks, peaches," she said absently. She was becoming more and more nervous and attempted to preoccupy herself by imagining the least serious punishment she could receive. Unfortunately, no matter how she thought of it, it seemed she would be suspended for a considerable amount of time. Fabulous.

"In here," Arnold shoved her through a door and into a still more dimly lit room. Grell stumbled and fell onto the floor.

"Rude!" she shouted as he walked away.

She shivered. Apparently the heating and ventilation system didn't extend to the department of discipline.

"Oh, you're the next one, are you?" a bored voice stated from behind a desk. Grell squinted into the darkness.

"Who are you?" she asked wearily.

"Don't make me go over it again, must I go over it again?" The voice muttered bitterly. "It's bad enough they've stuck me in here...away from the sun...I do believe I've quite forgotten the color of grass in the spring, or seen the bloom of a rose. How foolish to assume eternal life is a reward...of course I said yes to that fool who asked me if I wanted to live forever. Any poor sap who'd just been drowned would have done the same thing. Of course once they looked at all those idiotic records of theirs and pieced things together...it was scarcely my fault she decided to drown herself...and here I am, oh how the mighty have fallen..."

"What are you talking about?" Grell snapped. "I want to go back to my room now."

"Yes, well, I'd like to go back to somewhere that isn't damp and cold. Good lord it looks like something out of that idiotic book my wife wrote..." The voice ranted. "People always give her credit for the flowery language in there, but doesn't anyone realize that it's my work...if she had her way it would have been all laboratories, gore, and doom...I had to add to it. Honestly, she was only nineteen, of course she couldn't have written a book like that...I had to improve it...not that anyone cared. No one cares about nature..." The voice sighed.

Grell was becoming increasingly annoyed with the voice that was apparently supposed to be interrogating her, but instead seemed to be recounting its woes.

"Aren't you supposed to be questioning me...?" she asked.

"Yes...yes, that's right. My memory's not what it used to be...did you perchance ask what my name is? I believe it might be Peter. No, not Peter. Although I'm positive it began with a P. Paul? No, not that either...no one remembers my name, they only remember my foolish wife and that woman who drowned herself...that's it!" the voice said rather loudly, as though struck with an epiphany. "Percy. My name is Percy Shelley and I believe I work here...don't I?"

"Don't expect me to know," Grell snapped. "I'm only here because you all seem to have some personal vendetta against my feminine characteristics. Perhaps the fact that I killed two prostitutes plays a part in that, but only a minimal one, I assure you."

"You're a woman, then? Peculiar voice for a woman. A woman and a murderess. I can't check your file...my eyes aren't what they used to be...I'll assume you're telling the truth...sounds like solitary confinement to me...always a good option, after all, that's close to what they've done to me, isn't it..." Percy Shelley trailed off. "I miss the sun...have I told you that? Nature is truly magnificent..."

"No, no, please not solitary..." Grell said, panicked. She couldn't be alone. She was certain that the only reason she had remained grounded before joining Angelina was because of William and his levelheadedness. If she was left alone with her thoughts for too long, she worried she would snap. "You can't leave me alone...please...it's not going to help anything if you do. I need William, I need to see William...he's the one who saved me, he wants to see me, I know he does, please call him, he'll tell you not to put me in solitary..." she choked out desperately, struggling against her handcuffs and attempting to sit up from the floor.

"Arnold, put a straitjacket on this one and put her in that room with the peculiar walls...you know the one..." Shelley trailed off. "Sunlight..."

Grell flinched as Arnold gripped her shoulders and yanked her out of the room. She shivered as Angelina's coat was yanked from her arms and her other clothes were stripped off.

"Please...just save my coat, please..." she said quietly. Arnold tossed it aside, then proceeded to buckle a white canvas straitjacket onto her.

She curled into a ball on the floor as the last faint click echoed through the hall. She flinched as she was dragged along the ground and tossed inside a room like a bag of garbage. The floor was surprisingly soft, as though the entirety of it were comprised of mattresses. She shivered; the room was just as chilly and musty as the hall had been. She cringed as the door clanged shut and she heard a key click inside the lock.

She thought of William. She forced herself to imagine what he would say to her. She desperately wanted to hear his voice. She felt as though she needed to hear him remarking coldly on how foolish she had been. She needed him. She needed him to let her out, to tell someone that it wasn't fair, that she shouldn't be alone, then look at her and say her name in that consistently exasperated voice. William...his name was the last thing she thought of as she drifted into unconsciousness.


	21. Red in Disorientation

The darkness...there was so much darkness. Grell felt enveloped by it, wrapped inside of it as snugly as the straitjacket was buckled around her arms, forcing her to hug herself as though it was mocking her loneliness. She thought it might be nighttime, but she had no way of knowing. She had drifted in and out of consciousness until she had no more inkling of time. She opened her mouth cautiously with some struggle. Her jaw was stiff, as though she had been clenching it in her sleep. Her tongue was dry and she struggled to find some form of moisture in her mouth, but coughed in vain. Food and water were unnecessary for the survival of an immortal, but the prolonged absence became just as painful as it would be for a deprived human.

Grell felt as though she would cry, as though she had to cry out in the vaguest of hopes someone would answer her. She would not die here, it was impossible, but she would suffer slowly until she dried from the inside out and became nothing but an animated, lonely husk of the powerful flash of red she knew in her heart that she still was. She felt a tear run from her eye and trail over her nose as she lay on her side, shivering into the straitjacket that reached down only to the middle of her thighs.

William.

She forced the image of his face into her mind. She squinted her eyes shut and remembered the flash of his glasses, the annoyed twitch of his eyebrows, the dryness of his voice, the sleek shine of his hair, combed immaculately. She could not lose sight of him. She coughed again and rolled over onto her knees and felt more tears roll down her face. She smashed her head into the floor in vain, buffered from injury by the mattress-like floor.

William.

Beautiful William. Grell laughed to herself and tried again to smash her head against the floor again before falling over, lacking the ability to support herself with anything other than her knees, which were shaking inconsolably. He had kept her grounded, he had been there to scold her, to make her feel sheepish until she caught the slightest softening of his eyes every time she strayed from the path of law and order. She loved him beyond measure and beyond reason, in a way she could not properly explain even to herself.

She was hit by a wave of guilt as she thought of the troubles she caused him, of how much he had risked just to ensure that her death would not occur. She didn't deserve his sympathy, she didn't deserve his care, and she didn't deserve him. She let out a bloodcurdling scream; the first sound she had made since her imprisonment. It hurt her throat and she began coughing again, but ignored the rusty taste of blood in her throat and screamed again into the darkness. She deserved nothing, she deserved not even the canvas prison wrapped around her so mockingly.

She cried out as she struggled desperately. She wanted to be free again, she had to spread her arms, she had to know what it felt like to taste water and feel heat. She struggled, her arms aching weakly against the confines of the jacket. She noticed the door handle several feet away and attempted to roll her way over to it. She smashed her face into the metal repeatedly, then flinched and fell to the floor as she felt a long trail of blood run down her face from a spot under her eye. She screamed again, then broke off the sound with a sob that escaped from inside of her. She couldn't hold back the wave of tears. She was broken. Her mind was swirling, she saw red in front of her eyes, red and images that made no sense.

She saw faces in her mind, the face of Liesel, looking at her with disappointment, Charles smiling weakly, she saw Thomas's dead, frozen face as blood had pooled up from his mouth after he was struck in the head, she saw the bodies of children, of babies whose souls she had been forced to collect, dead peacefully in their sleep from the cold, she saw Angelina's face plastered with a manic grin and splashed with red over the mutilated body of Elizabeth Stride, she saw the sadistic smirk on Sebastian's face as he readied himself to slice her into mincemeat, and finally she saw William, perpetually frowning over her and shaking his head before his eyes softened slightly and she saw his lips move to form her name, followed by a "good grief...". The images in her mind's eye rapidly shrank and she saw flashes inside her eyelids and it seemed that she was looking into an endless mirror traced with weblike cracks that never ended.

The faces...she had failed them all...every one of them she had failed, somehow...she had even failed herself...

William would not forgive her for breaking. She bit her bottom lip in spastic frustration, drawing blood. He would not be able to look at her, because she had failed. She was unstable, she would be of better use to the world dead, she would fall from the ashes left by the bridges she had burnt throughout her whole life. She screamed again into the darkness, for the simple reason that she knew no one would ever answer. She laid her head on the floor again and felt the room tip underneath her before her eyes closed again for what she desperately hoped was eternity.

:::::::::::::::::::

She awoke to the feeling of warmth. It was so foreign that at first she could not recall the word for it. She was shaking, or rather, she was being shaken as voices shouted at one another. She vaguely recognized the voices themselves, but she could not place them. Her mind was hazy, she didn't want to understand. She didn't want to wake up. She felt herself being shaken again, then turned over. Faint clinks echoed through the room as she felt the pressure on her arms loosening. The canvas was pulled from her skin. She felt something else being slung over her, something much more comforting and soft, something that smelled faintly of a delicate iris...or perhaps a lily...yes...perhaps it was lycoris, she thought vaguely to herself.

Grell was floating now, as she felt her arms and legs hang limply. No...not floating. She was being lifted and carried away. She heard a faint voice over her hazy, blurred thoughts but could not register anything that was being spoken. She felt a sudden warmth and saw light before her eyes, then she flexed her arms, followed by her legs, beginning to regain feeling. She instinctively curled closer into the arms of her rescuer and suddenly felt the most peculiar sensation, as though small droplets of water were gently hitting her on the head...perhaps they were tears, because, as she thought vaguely to herself, they could not be raindrops. She was still certainly indoors...

The air settled underneath her and became something soft and solid. Perhaps it was a bed. She couldn't tell. She flinched and shivered as a stinging liquid was sponged onto the cuts under her eye and on her lip. She heard more voices, one speaking in a raised voice, still angry, another voice speaking in a softer, reassuring tone. The angry voice raised still more loudly and the reassuring voice faded away. She heard footsteps and the loud creak of a chair being dragged across the floor. She wanted desperately to open her eyes, but her eyelids felt like lead. She lay limp as her arm was lifted and she felt something sharp sting and pierce the middle of her wrist, leading a flow of cool, liquid comfort into her veins and allowing her to breathe more soundly.

The hand that had lifted her arm traced the side of her face and up to her forehead, and it felt as though it were trembling. It brushed aside the strands of hair from her face, then pressed against her pillow, as though it were supporting its owner as he leaned over and gently, softly, almost unintelligibly placed his lips on her forehead. She wished that she had been able to open her eyes, but she could do nothing but remain limp as she heard the figure sit back down while she drifted into complete unconsciousness once more.

William T. Spears sat in silence, methodically wiping his eyes dry as he gazed at the frail, broken, long-tired figure of Grell Sutcliff as she lay on the hospital bed next to his chair. He would sit by her side for the rest of the night.


	22. Red Reflecting

Red. Red again and red as it had always been. Grell was looking at a red-clothed figure, standing in front of a fire that extended everywhere with swirling lines. Her vision was blurred, almost as though she was not wearing glasses. The ground felt as though it was tipping beneath her feet. She walked unsteadily towards the red woman ahead of her and heard a faint, familiar voice speak to her.

"Hello there, Grell," the woman said softly. Grell recognized the voice as Angelina's, and immediately her eyes welled up with tears.

"Angie...Angie, please forgive me," Grell begged, trying to run up to the woman and hug her, but she always seemed just out of reach. Angelina raised her hand in front of her.

"Don't worry, it's what I wanted, isn't it? Now I can be with Vincent again...and Rachel. I've missed them so very much," Angelina sighed in contentment. "I miss you as well, you know."

"Please don't leave me again," Grell whispered. "I want you to come back…"

"Honestly, Grell," Angelina snapped in frustration. "I'm not coming back. If anyone should be completely aware of that, it's you. After all, isn't death your job?"

"Yes, but-"

"You remember what William said, don't you, about Thomas?" Angelina interrupted. "He told you, perhaps not in as many words, but he told you that it doesn't matter how those close to the deceased view them. What matters is what they would add to the world and what they would leave behind. I would have rotted away the rest of my life, drowning in self-pity. I ended in precisely the way I wanted to. Although," she added. "I see you've pinched my favorite coat. It looked better on me." she sniffed derisively.

Grell cracked a smile.

"You're the same," she said with a bit of humor. "Angie...can't I stay here with you, if you won't come back? They're only going to leave me alone here…"

"I wouldn't say that. I think you should go back now, because there's something you need to see, Grell," Angelina smiled, or at least Grell assumed she did, based on what she could see through the blurred world in front of her.

"No, no Angie, please let me stay with you…" Grell pleaded. "I'll miss you too much…"

"Grell, you're going back now. There's someone waiting for you. Don't worry about me. You need to leave this behind; it's not worth it to dwell on what happened. I love you. You have potential left in your life, so go live the rest of it," Angelina said with finality.

"Angie…" Grell called out frantically, trying to reach out to her before the ground tipped dramatically and she felt as though she was falling through the sky and into the flames below her.

:::::::::::::::::::

Grell sat up in the hospital bed in a cold sweat, breathing heavily. Her heart was racing and snippets of her peculiar dream flashed before her eyes. She reached up to her head and flipped damp strands of hair out of her eyes. She turned to look around at her surroundings, unsure of where she was, and jumped to see William sitting in a chair next to the side of her bed, reading a newspaper.

"Ah!" she shrieked, pointing her finger at him. "What are you doing in my room?" she asked, frantically pulling the sheets of the bed over her chest after realizing that she was naked.

"Oh, you're awake," he set down his paper. "This is not your room, this is the infirmary, and that's really no way to thank the one who pulled you out of that dank little hell hole you were trapped in. I am now facing two more weeks of unpaid overtime thanks to you. Management has not taken kindly to me of late, but that's a bit more generous than their feelings towards you…"

Grell had successfully covered herself with the sheets and was shaking slightly under the covers. Her head hurt and she was still sweating from the dream. She reached up and felt a slight indentation on the upper part of her cheek.

"What happened to my face?" she said, looking up at William frantically.

"You somehow managed to cut yourself on the door handle, based on what I could ascertain," William frowned.

"Now I'm hideous," Grell sighed and flopped her head down on the pillow.

"It's going to heal in a day or two," William said dryly, reaching for his paper again. "Don't you remember anything that has happened in the last week?"

Grell's expression darkened.

"Yes...but I don't want to...Will...how did I get out of there? I thought they would leave me there forever...don't they know that I can't be by myself for too long…" she said in a partially stumbling manner.

"After I was allowed to leave after my first week of overtime was completed, I decided to visit you…" William said quietly, pulling out his casebook and pretending to read it.

Grell looked at him with mild surprise.

"You wanted to come see me…?" she asked, smiling slightly.

"That was my initial intent, however, when I arrived you were lying in a pool of your own blood, completely unconscious, but your eyes were wide open," William shuddered slightly, almost imperceptibly. "I thought you were dead, but you started to move when I touched your shoulder and your eyes shut…"

Grell closed her eyes tightly upon hearing this, and shook her head quickly.

"No...I don't want to think about this…" she whispered. She fought to keep the dark thoughts out of her head. It had been the most awful experience of her life, being trapped alone in complete blackness. Her thoughts had overtaken her horribly, leaving her irrational and deranged. She mentally relived the experience of slamming her head into the door handle and shivered uncontrollably. The emotional pain she had felt had manifested itself in her desire to make herself burn.

She flinched at the distinct memory, as though she could still feel the scratch of metal against her face as it stung and drew blood.

"Will…" she said quietly, reaching out and touching him on the arm.

"Yes?" he replied, turning to look at her with his ever-present frown still on his face.

"Thank you for taking me out of there…" she smiled slightly.

William neglected to respond save for a small nod, as he noticed that Grell's IV bag had run dry.

"That's a problem...I assume you're rehydrated by now…" he sighed and stood up, carefully grasping Grell's arm. He carefully peeled away the medical tape holding the needle in place and slid it out. Grell cringed slightly. She was not particularly fond of needles in any situation. She found them to be disturbing in that they could pierce the skin and often cause pain without drawing blood. Blood, to her, was the inevitable consequence of injury, and needles with their quiet stinging were not to be trusted.

Grell tugged her arm away and started to scratch slightly at the place where the tape had been.

"Much better," she sighed. "Will...I've been wondering...how do you feel about me?"  
William sighed in frustration.

"We're back to this, are we?"

"Well...yes. I really do want to know...it's so very impolite to leave a lady waiting," Grell smiled slightly and poked William's arm. "I've already established that beyond a reasonable doubt, you do have a heart, and I'm simply dying to know who it belongs to."

"Grell, I highly doubt it matters," William stated tightly, reaching over to his newspaper and picking it up again.

"It does! It matters more than anything else in the world, my darling!" Grell clutched at her heart dramatically and rolled over to grin widely at William.

"No, it doesn't. You'll throw yourself at anything that walks by, including demons, meant to be the bane of a grim reaper's existence. The thoughts of one individual on this matter has no weight in the outcome of any of our lives," he pushed his glasses more snugly against his nose and forced himself not to look up at her.

Grell felt the urge to shriek in frustration. She vaguely understood what William was trying to get across to her, but she refused to accept it. She believed that he cared about her more than he would admit, and if it was simply an issue of trust, then she would simply have to try changing her ways. She turned over so she was face down on her pillow and let out a sigh of frustration.

"Someone who didn't care about a lady wouldn't rescue her from a dungeon and carry her gently, nude, to lay her upon a bed, then tend to her throughout the night…" she said quietly, her voice muffled through the pillow.

William's face became rather pink and he abruptly flipped the page of his newspaper and cleared his throat. Grell smiled, self-satisfied.

"Oh, Will...you're so gorgeously cruel.." she giggled.

"Go to sleep, Grell. You need your rest."


	23. Red Sentenced

Grell rolled over and cracked open her eyes, blinking. She flinched as they made a faint scratching noise. It would seem that she was still rather dehydrated. At least she had managed to sleep a bit. She turned around and sat up, rubbing her arms and shivering slightly. William was gone, she noticed, after looking around the room. She pulled the sheets over her bare shoulders self-consciously, wishing that someone had thought to bring her some clothes. She also, upon squinting, wished that her glasses had been provided as well. She sighed, assuming that she shouldn't have expected quality service, being a criminal.

She wondered vaguely where William was, and felt rather fidgety. She attempted to sit comfortably, but realized she was sore all over. Her arms were stiff as well, presumably from the straitjacket. Grell attempted to fluff up the rather flat pillow and shoved it behind her head so she could lean up against the wall.

She reflected upon what had happened to her recently. She realized she had trouble remembering specific events that had occurred, and she had no idea what day it was, what time of day it was, or even how big her infirmary ward was. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all a shiny white, and when combined with the blurriness of her vision, depth perception was certainly an issue. She wondered vaguely if her hearing would take place soon, as William had mentioned to her that it would be in one week. However, she did not have an inkling as to how long ago he had mentioned this. Time, she thought, passed much more sporadically when one was alone.

Grell jumped out of her reverie to hear a soft knock from one side of the wall, and was at first rather frantic at the idea of where the sound was coming from and indeed of where the door was located. The door soon revealed itself when it cracked open from somewhere to Grell's left.

"Good afternoon, Grell," William's monotone voice greeted her. He stepped into the room and sat down next to the bed.

"Hello Will," Grell smiled brightly, or at least as brightly as she could muster with her sore face. "You simply can't stay away from me, can you?"

William's eyebrow twitched slightly and he adjusted his glasses.

"If that is what you would like to believe. I've come with two announcements. Firstly, I had your spectacles repaired. The glass had shattered. Honestly, you're inept at even keeping the guidelines of the first rule," he sighed and compulsively pushed up his glasses again, then handed over a black, hard plastic case to Grell, who opened it and sighed with relief, then slipped her familiar red glasses on.

"Thank you, darling, how thoughtful," she grinned.

"It was merely the standard regulation," William frowned.

"Call it what you will," Grell playfully pushed his shoulder. "What was the second of your little announcements?"

"Your hearing took place this morning, but due to your condition, a representative was selected to fill in for y-"

"That's ridiculous," Grell interrupted him, her eyes narrowing. "How can they expect someone who doesn't even know me properly to stand in for me on something this important?"

"I represented you," William said in an exasperated tone.

"Oh," Grell said quietly. "Well that's a bit different, I suppose. Thank you, darling."

"Once again, this was not my decision, I was merely selected by the higher-ups," he sighed in response.

"I shall choose to ignore that," Grell chuckled slightly and adjusted the pillow behind her head. "So, do tell me how the hearing went."

William pulled a small notebook from his pocket and flipped it open.

"They have given you the option of two possible sentences, both of which they feel will give you ample time to reflect on the irregularity of your actions," he said in a rather bored tone. "Firstly, a six-month suspension with the chance of an appeal after the first four months," he narrowed his eyes at Grell, who had opened her mouth in protest. "Do let me finish. Thank you," he cleared his throat. "And secondly, a three month suspension, but you will be required to provide remedial combat training to a new recruit." William shut the notebook. "Both of these options will be followed by a year of pay cut by twenty-five percent and six months of supervision while on field assignments."

Grell groaned and flopped forward onto her knees.

"You are required to make a choice by the end of the day," William added.

"This is awful," Grell mumbled.

"If you do not intend to make a choice now, then I must be going, I have paperwork to attend to," William stated, moving the chair back and making ready to leave.

"No, no," Grell dragged herself back up into a sitting position. "I have questions…"

William sat down again.

"This new recruit...if they need remedial training, aren't they some sort of awful failure at life if they can't manage to learn simple combat skills?" she sighed dramatically.

"I haven't the faintest idea," William frowned. "Have you decided yet?"

"I suppose so," Grell adopted a look of perpetual exhaustion that was almost entirely fabricated for the sake of inducing William's pity. "I'll take the new recruit…"

"Very well. They would like for you to start the assignment tomorrow morning, by which time your limbs should have properly healed," William adjusted his glasses yet again and stood up. "Goodbye Grell, I really must be leaving now. There is still a significant amount of paperwork I must fill out to confirm that you are indeed neither dead nor in confinement, and yet more paperwork to actually allow you back to work."

"Oh, Will, can't you bring that in here to do...I'll be so bored without you, and I don't want to sleep any more...it's so uncomfortable...and I haven't got any clothes with me...can you bring me my nightdress, too…" Grell whined pitifully and rolled around under the sheets of the hospital bed.

"I am not susceptible to manipulation by way of pity," William frowned.

"But Wiiiiiiiiiill…"

William's eyebrow looked as though it were attempting to escape from his face by means of twitching.

"Very well," he said tightly. "But if you have further trouble sleeping, I will have to call for an anesthetic to administer to you."

"I'm sure that won't be necessary," Grell smiled. "By the way, since when are you so medically educated?"

William sighed and raised his hand to his forehead.

"I should have known you would have skipped that bit of training. Were you aware that all reapers are required to pass a basic test of first aid capability? Or was that in conflict with one of those frequent intervals in which you were painting your nails?" he asked in frustration.

Grell opened and closed her mouth in silence. She was relatively certain she had never heard anything about such an assignment, but she had to admit to herself that it was fairly likely that such a thing could certainly have been brought up to her before.

"Just as I thought. I'll be back in a moment, Grell. Jeez…" William tsked as he stood up and walked briskly out the door. Grell watched him go and laughed quietly to herself. He was so very perfect, in every way.


	24. Red Chuckling

The weather was relatively warm on the rooftop of the dispatch building, which Grell found refreshing, as she had spend most of her time indoors and huddled around thin bedcovers in the last week. She was presently waiting for her new recruit to show up, although she was fairly certain he was late. I, personally, can vouch for the fact that it scarcely mattered how late the new recruit was, as Grell herself had arrived exactly eleven minutes behind schedule, but that is neither here nor there.

She was preoccupied with filing her nails, and smiled to herself at the recent memory of William complaining that her attention span was weakened due to her manicure obsession. She wondered vaguely if attentiveness towards her appearance was in any way actually helping her crack through William's exterior. She shrugged off her thoughts and looked around the rooftop. The sun was beginning to set and Grell tapped her foot impatiently. Perhaps her little protegé was having some trouble finding the place. Then again, she mused, perhaps he was just as much a slacker as every other new recruit. Grell specifically neglected to remind herself that she still fell into that category, and instead tsked at how discipline had decreased so dramatically since her time ninety years ago.

She had just finished trimming her cuticles and had begun shaking a bottle of nail polish she had managed to find in her room after being released from the infirmary, when she heard a throat clear from behind her. She turned around and made an expression of distaste.

"Are you the kid?" she asked, gesturing to the awkwardly standing figure in front of her. He was wearing a rather wrinkled suit and had hair in a peculiar shade of blond that Grell, upon cringing internally, could not recall ever having seen in nature.

"Yea, I s'pose I am. And you're Mister Sutcliff?" he asked warily, scratching the back of his head.

"Miss," Grell corrected, narrowing her eyes. "You look familiar, have I threatened you before?"

The blond man looked down.

"Nah, I don't think so, sir…" he said, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

"That's ma'am to you, and-" Grell stopped abruptly and gasped, dramatically pointing her finger and taking several steps back. "I do know you! You! You're that little shrimp who tried to snog me at the office party! Richard...or Ralphie...some kiddish name like that!"

"Ronald," Ronald interjected, and Grell gasped again and gestured violently.

"Yes! Ronald Knox! You little shrimp! I don't even regret kicking you!" Grell spat furiously.

"Yea, y'know that's really the sort of place you oughta regret kicking a man…" Ronald frowned.

"A man should never take advantage of a lady," Grell sniffed, crossing her arms.

Ronald shrugged.

"Tha' may be true, Mister Sutcliff, but I'm sure you can see I was a bit on the drunk side, and I didn't know you were-"

"Be very careful how you finish that sentence, Knoxie," Grell cut him off with a snarl.

Ronald gulped slightly.

"Say, jus' out of curiousity, is it true you disemboweled a hooker?" he asked nervously.

Grell laughed shrilly.

"Oh no, why on earth would you believe that?" she said, tossing her hair back and chuckling.

Ronald sighed in relief.

"...it was two hookers, you shrimp," she grinned, causing Ronald to flinch at her shark teeth.

"Ey, sir, I think I'd best jus' apologize, as I'd like to keep mos' of the feeling I have left down there, so I'm sorry for what 'appened then," Ronald said cautiously, shifting his feet.

"The sentiment is of course appreciated, but I'm not inclined to accept anything from you until I see what you've got me into. Just how horrendous are your combat skills?" Grell asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Bad enough that mister what's-'is-name with th' stick up his arse sent me to remedial training with you," Ronald muttered.

"Now now, don't be too hard on him, I'm certain if I had to walk around like that I'd be just as cranky," Grell giggled slightly. Ronald grinned at her. "Now, get out that scythe and let's see what you can do, shorty." Grell continued, snapping her fingers.

Ronald grimaced and summoned his death scythe, one of the standard issue training models.

"Oh now that's just pathetic," Grell tossed her arms into the air. "You don't hold it with both hands, you dense loon, you have to be able to swing the thing. It's no wonder you're flunking out of Practical Skills…"

Ronald sighed in exasperation and removed one of his hands from the scythe handle.

"Now, let's see what you can do, it's been a terribly long time since I was able to fight properly," she laughed delightedly, summoned her chainsaw, and charged at Ronald, who ducked out of the way. She was exceedingly happy that William had grudgingly allowed her to keep her weapon as it was. She would have missed it terribly if he had ended up confiscating it. Grell wholeheartedly hoped to herself that he had allowed her to keep it perhaps not out of guilt for driving her away in the first place, but instead out of some deeply hidden adoration. She grinned to herself as she raced at Ronald a second time, pirouetting her way at him and holding the saw above her head.

"Come on now, a' least go a little easy on me," Ronald protested, his eyes fixed on the chainsaw whirring dangerously close to his head. Grell swung at him again and in order to avoid her blade, he managed to drop to the ground and roll away quickly as the spinning teeth chased after him.

"You know, I don't know if I can do that, seeing as you're terribly awful at this," she stabbed her weapon down at Ronald, who managed to block the saw with the metal edge of his training scythe. "I think you reeeeeally need to be in a life or death situation to actually get some tiny little speck of skill show itself."

She lifted her saw and shut it off. Ronald sighed in relief and scrambled to his feet.

"Well…" he said, ruffling his hair, the color of which Grell was still exceedingly off-put by, and laughing. "At leas' I didn't die, huh?"

Grell frowned.

"Perhaps not yet, but I doubt you're going to stay alive much longer with such an attitude. Who knew someone as short as you could be so flippant with matters of death?" she snorted and flipped her chainsaw over her shoulder so it stuck in the ground.

"Tha' doesn't make any sense, Mister Sutcli-" Ronald protested before Grell waved a hand and silenced him.

"Of course it doesn't make sense to you, shorty. I can't expect a frosted mini wheat like you to understand my insults," Grell pulled the bottle of nail polish out of her pocket and proceeded shaking it again.

"Y'know, I think we'd be round the same height if you weren' wearing those heels, sir," Ronald stated, dubiously looking at Grell's two inch shoes.

"How sweet of you to notice, Knoxie. Now, if I have to put up with you for the next two hours," she continued, beginning to paint her left thumbnail. "...please fetch me an alcoholic beverage befitting whatever the time of day is and don't get any ideas."

"Isn' this supposed to be a bit more of an educational thing?" Ronald questioned, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Don't complain. You should feel veeeeery lucky that I'm going easy on you. With your level of skill you'd do ever so much better just trying to run your clients over with a lawnmower," Grell snorted as her nail polish brush made its way to her left ring finger.

Ronald sighed.

Grell turned and watched as he jumped off the roof.

"He may be short, juvenile, with a ridiculous accent and a lack of respect for his elders…" she said to herself, rolling her eyes. "...but he also has hair in a faux-golden color that you really never see outside of faerie storybooks, which is far more objectionable than aaaaany of his other traits."

She scoffed to herself and returned to her nail polish.


	25. Red Growling

"You know, you're really awful at this," Grell remarked, sipping at some rather poor red wine as she watched Ronald swing his death scythe around haphazardly. "When's your exam?"

"Nex' week," Ronald yawned, tossing his scythe down and stretching his arms over his head. "Y'know, some might think that remedial training is meant to include a bit o' moral support."

"Well, maybe I'd be a tiny bit more supportive if you'd learn to get me a proper drink and listen when I tell you that under no circumstances are you to hold a training scythe with both hands," she snapped back at him, causing him to flinch. "Hopefully you'll fail so I can stop coming up here every week."

She took another sip of wine and shuddered, then tipped the glass over her shoulder and poured the remaining liquid onto the ground.

"I gotta say, sir, I think I'd be a lo' less bad at this if I had a better teacher," Ronald remarked, raising his eyebrows at Grell, who waved her hand at him dismissively.

"It's not as though it matters, you're bound to pass if you don't let the human's death bother you," she shrugged. "Combat may be a part of it, but really, the only thing they're trying to get you to understand is that there's no room for emotional attachment."

"Tha' seems a bit harsh. Plus I though' we were allowed to make exceptions?" he replied, furrowing his brow.

"Only if the world would notice their absence. I really think they try to give you someone you can't help getting attached to. It's the way they work. It's the hardest thing you can force yourself to do, because really, after a month of watching them, they start to seem like your family, especially if you don't have anyone else like that," she said rather sadly. "I remember my assignment...I wanted so badly to let Thomas live...I do believe that I considered him to be my child."

"Why didn' you let 'im live?" Ronald asked, frowning at her, but looking mildly more interested in her ramblings than he had previously.

"I think I would have, if it hadn't been for Will, to be perfectly honest," Grell narrowed her eyes slightly. "Of course, I understand why he wanted me to see that Thomas should die, but I've still never forgotten that boy..."

Ronald made some statement of acknowledgement, but Grell didn't hear him, as she had become lost in her thoughts. She realized that even though she had passed her final exam, she hadn't truly learned the point of it. She had spared more lives in her career than she would like to admit. She had never been able to bring herself to allow the death of a child, especially a baby. Thomas had been so terribly close to that line…she had mentally apologized to him time and time again. She wanted to forget about him, but every now and again she allowed herself to dig through her closet and read his scribbled first notes from The Story of Will the Reaper. It was a shame that the full manuscript had been lost, but at least a small part of his thoughts still existed.

She shook her head sharply.

"We're done for today, Knoxie, so why don't you, your horrendous combat skills, and your bad dye job all go out to some cheap bar?" she said, stretching.

"Sounds good, sir," Ronald said, yawning and picking up his death scythe before jumping off the side of the roof. Grell took off from the opposite side.

She was rather more distressed than she had been in the last few days. She was overcome with memories of Thomas that shouldn't still be haunting her. Grell tugged at her hair in frustration, and walked briskly back to the dispatch office where she knew she would be able to find William. Perhaps, she thought as she entered the building and sighed, she would be able to vent to him for a bit of time. He was unlikely to listen, but just his presence would be comforting enough. She knocked on the frosted glass door of his office and recalled, not too long ago, when she had done the same thing and ended up leaving in tears.

"Come in, Grell," William stated dryly from inside.

Grell cracked open the door and stepped in, then looked at William in surprise. He was packing some of his desk drawer folders into a briefcase.

"Why are you packing…?" she asked, confused as she noticed that most of the other drawers in the room were either locked or completely emptied.

"I have been assigned an undercover position, and I will be gone until the end of the month," he stated matter-of-factly as he snapped the briefcase shut.

"What?!" Grell protested, her heart sinking. "Why didn't you tell me this?"

"I'm telling you now, aren't I?" William replied.

"Yes, but...the night before you're leaving? Would you even have told me if I hadn't come to see you?" Grell said, frowning at him in an attempt to ignore the lump in her throat.

"Grell, you visit me every day. Sometimes twice a day. I assumed I wouldn't need to worry about searching you out," he said indifferently.

"Even so…" Grell trailed off and walked over to sit on William's desk. "Wiiiiiiiiiill...I'm going to miss you…" she whined, but inside she was genuinely concerned as to why William was being sent on field work in the first place. They must really be short-staffed. Then she realized that obviously staffing was an issue, as Ronald Knox was a candidate for permanent employment. How pathetic.

"I'm certain you will," William said as he turned to the door.

"Wait, William, you don't have to leave here now, do you?" she protested, tugging on his shoulder. "I haven't told you about my horrendous day yet. That new recruit was that awful little shrimp who tried to kiss me at the last office party because he was dead drunk," she shuddered, then looked up at William and smiled. "Are you jealous, Will?"

"I refuse to dignify that with a response. Now, unless you have anything else to-"

"Remember our first kiss, Will?" Grell grinned at him, and he froze slightly. "Certainly it wasn't ideal, and soon afterwards I ran away, but it was something and I can quite certainly say that my very first kiss was with you."

"I have no recollection of such a thing," William responded tightly.

Grell frowned. She hadn't brought this up since she had just been recruited, but she still genuinely doubted that William had no memory of their past.

"Now, you see, I have some trouble believing that...especially as you've gone all stiff-shouldered at the simple mention of it…" Grell laughed slightly and William narrowed his eyes at her.

"Grell, kindly stop pressing the matter," he said, turning away from her and making for the door.

"Will, wait, I know you remember!" Grell protested in frustration, tugging at his arm.

"Grell, please stop," William said through clenched teeth as he wrenched himself away from her.

"No! I won't stop, because I know you remember what happened!" Grell shouted, and felt tears forming in her eyes. She realized that she wasn't entirely sure why she was crying, nor why she cared if William remembered their past life. As she reflected later on, she wanted to hold on to something she knew had happened in her life, and something that she knew would cement her idea that she and William were fated to be together. They had managed to run into one another again, after all, even after a disastrous seventeen-minute marriage of convenience.

"Grell, allow me to explain something that may motivate you to stop bothering me. Has it not occurred to you that I do not wish to remember such things? Not only is it inconvenient in that it takes away from more important things, but I may not want to relive moments of weakness, or instances which I cannot explain to myself. I cannot explain why you find yourself so attached to me, nor why you were at first so repelled by my presence that you chose to slap me across the face and proclaim we were married upon your arrival at the Dispatch. Therefore, I beg of you to understand that there are many things I have suppressed. It is neither useful nor convenient to bring them up to myself, therefore I have chosen to ignore them. I suggest that you should do the same, as it is likely to negatively affect your work ethic if you continue to allow these things to rule you," William stated coldly, adjusting his glasses. "Excuse me, Grell, but I will now be leaving."

Grell was left standing in shock, having barely absorbed what William had just told her. She sat down on the floor of his office and blinked slowly. She was unable to comprehend the fact that he knew what had happened to them, and yet was unwilling to face it. She stared at his retreating figure as he walked down the hall.


	26. Red in Remembrance

He remembered. She was certain of it, wholly and entirely, and she would make him understand how important it was that he remembered. Because they had been around one another since before they became immortals, clearly they were destined to be together. At least, this was the thought process of Grell Sutcliff. I cannot say that it was anything more than a coincidence, but a very interesting, strange coincidence none the less. The only thing fated is death and the manner in which it comes. Anything that happens between birth and death, or after, is nothing but a clump of chance occurrences that can change and mold themselves over time. If the human Grell Sutcliff had not been led to meet the human William T. Spears at all, she still would have died on precisely the same day and in precisely the same manner. It would perhaps have been instead on the way home after purchasing food, or while taking a walk on the streets.

Regardless of the external circumstances, she would have always ended up in the road, her body mangled and her hair caught in the spokes of a carriage wheel. It is a sad thing, certainly, at least to some people, but the fact remains that logically two people cannot be fated to love one another.

Grell did not consider this, as she laid on the bed in her room, which she had been allowed back into after her infirmary release. She was considering matters from an entirely different point of view, and her thoughts consumed her with such a ferocity that she had pushed out every fiber of her being that had been tempted to cry at William's statement, and instead transferred that energy into devising how she would convince him to admit what he remembered. She thought that perhaps she could pigeonhole him into making some statement regarding a carefully placed question. Literature. Literature seemed relevant to her, especially since he had been a literature student. Perchance she would be able to find some piece of academic writing and discuss it with him, then inquire as to the origin of his knowledge on the matter.

She sighed. It seemed as though such an endeavor would require far too much reading. However, perhaps the reading would take her mind off Thomas, who she needed to learn to forget. She had originally meant for her discussion with William to lead up to the long-deceased author, but it had not taken the turn she had wished it to. She rolled over on her bed. Perhaps there was something that could be made to jog his memory of their past. She raised her head as a sudden thought struck her mind. There was one thing...she was uncertain if it still existed, or where it could be, but it was worth trying.

Grell stood up and walked over to her wall-mounted intercom system. She pressed the button for General Affairs.

"Hello?" A woman's cool voice answered.

"Yes...well...I'm not sure who I should be asking, but are things like clothing ever saved? Perhaps from when I was...let's see...given the breath of immortal life?" Grell asked hesitantly.

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"How long ago was this?"

Grell hesitated, mentally counting.

"Around...one hundred and sixty years ago? Give or take a decade. It'd be a more or less white dress. Hopefully it was dry cleaned, there was a bit of staining problem, as I understand," she said, frowning slightly to herself. The memory of her death was still rather painful, but she certainly couldn't complain too heavily about where she had ended up. She may be at ends with management more often than she would like, but she did so adore her job, and spending time with William was essentially what her life revolved around.

"If it's not in your room somewhere with other items that may have been recovered from the scene, then it has likely been incinerated by now unless it was deemed valuable," the woman on the other end replied dryly. "Will that be all?"

"Yes, thank you…" Grell said vaguely before releasing her finger from the button. She hadn't considered that the dress may still be in her possession. She had entertained a hateful relationship with her closet ever since her first day, when she had opened it and discovered nothing but suits. Men's suits at that. But now, as she narrowed her eyebrows curiously, she walked over to the aforementioned closet and opened it with some degree of trepidation. Suits. Rows of suits. Exactly ten of them. It was as though, she thought, they expected every employee to be precisely like William T. Spears. She chuckled and directed her attention to the shelf above. There was a row of drawers, all unmarked. She opened the first.

Her psych reports from her first evaluation after she had been originally registered and from her most recent apparent observation during solitary confinement. She quickly closed the drawer. Perhaps once she had thoroughly moved past the emotional damage of that particular experience she would be able to look at the horrendous things they had certainly said about her.

She opened the next drawer, felt around, and located a plastic, sealed bag which she pulled out hopefully, then cringed at. It contained what appeared to be an enormous clump of red hair that had crinkled over time and seemed to be matted with clots of blood. Disgusting. She wrinkled her nose at how pleasant it was that they had elected to preserve this particular relic of her human life. She promptly thrust it back into the drawer and closed it.

The third drawer she felt more hopeful about, and her heart seemed to stop, then thump more quickly at the location of another sealed bag. She pulled it out with shaking fingers and covered her mouth upon seeing the contents. There was the dress. It was perhaps more of an off-white than it had originally been, but there were no bloodstains and it seemed to have been adequately preserved. She hesitated before unzipping the bag and removing the article of clothing. Tears flowed into her eyes as she remembered not only the instance during which she had worn it, but how very, ironically different her mind had been. She would rather have spent the rest of her life working as a laundry maid than marry William T. Spears, the insufferable literature student, and now, she thought bitterly, it was the only thing she wanted in the world.


	27. Red Smiling

The room gave off an air of perpetual nostalgia as Grell stood in front of her bedroom mirror. The dress still felt the same as it had the first time she had worn it, and it was still just as poorly made and pitifully discolored. She felt simultaneously disgusted by the poor quality of the garment and tearful at the memory that consumed her mind. She vaguely thought that she should be getting to bed soon, but the time was not her primary concern. There was still visible light stretching from the bottom of her door, which meant that the main hallway lights were still on. Perhaps William would still be up. She considered, with a choking feeling somewhere inside her heart, whether she should visit him like this.

Grell hesitated, standing in front of the door. Perhaps not. She was uncertain as to what his reaction would be. She simply wanted him to realize and accept what had happened in their past, but the emotions brought up by that seemed to have led him to heavily repress something. She realized that she still did not know how he had died. He had simply appeared, not too long after her. Grell felt her heart speed up slightly as she realized that even if it had seemed not too long after her, the entire time she had trained had taken seventy years. Seventy years that had crunched themselves down into the span of less than a month.

It could be that William was less than eager to remember his past because of the way or the circumstances in which he had died. Grell paced the room, and the dress swished around her ankles. She was not entirely sure whether she was willing to risk being reprimanded by him for bringing it up again. On the other hand, she believed that if she could get through to him, just a bit, in this way she would be able to say with genuine satisfaction that he was becoming close to her. This was her primary goal. She did not give much thought to the methods it would take, but she desperately wanted William to understand that she loved him. It was not relevant, at this point, whether or not he loved her in return. She merely wanted him to believe her. It was eternally frustrating that no matter what she did, what she went through, he still viewed her as nothing more than a nuisance with a penchant for flirting.

She came to her conclusion after ten minutes of pacing. She reached on to her bed and pulled on Angelina's red coat. Of course she still carried it. She would never stop carrying it with her. Grell smiled slightly. She missed the poor daft woman. She had seem so much of herself in Angelina Dalles. She carefully tucked these thoughts away and adjusted the coat before walking carefully out her door and treading down the hallway.

The lights had not yet been dimmed, and she felt uncharacteristically self-conscious in the bright white reflective hall. The walls were unnaturally shiny, and she could see herself in them from all angles. She started occasionally as she saw her own reflection around the corner and thought it to be another reaper. William's room was down this way, she was relatively certain. Although she had only been explicitly invited there once (and then only to pick up the bag of cosmetics she had left in his office space a day earlier) she had dropped by a few other times to hover outside the door in the hope that he would open the door and she could pretend to have stumbled by accidentally.

She knocked quickly before she lost her nerve, and self-consciously hugged Angelina's jacket more closely around herself. The door opened to reveal William T. Spears, hardly dressed in the professional ensemble she was used to seeing him in. He was wearing instead a set of white and blue striped pajamas. Grell blinked at this peculiar spectacle, having been reduced to a state of open-mouthed silence that bordered on the overwhelming urge to laugh uncontrollably. She settled on a middle ground and bit the inside of her cheek whilst striving to maintain a serious expression.

"Grell," William stated with a twinge of exasperation.

"Yes, William my love...I've come to-" she started before William sighed and raised his hand.

"If I did not know why you were here, I would have to be a complete imbecile," he replied, frowning. "You're here because you expect me to tell you everything I remember and then somehow hearing that will resolve any internal conflict you may have."

"I suppose that's more or less it," Grell shrugged slightly. "May I come in?"

William glanced behind him at the clock situated on his bedside table, which proclaimed in blue glowing letters that it was eleven thirty-two. He nodded silently and stepped aside to let her inside.

Grell sat down on his bed without invitation, and she noted without surprise that his eyebrow seemed to have developed a twitch at that particular action. His eyes seemed to travel to what she was wearing and he made a noise of discontent.

"Since that is indeed why you are here, I have calculated that it will be far less effort for me to discuss this with you then attempt to reason you away from my bedroom," William sighed and brushed a strand of hair away from his face. "I hope you realize, Grell, that any marriage vows we may have exchanged are no longer valid," he stated distastefully.

Grell widened her eyes and pointed a finger at him triumphantly.

"So you admit it! We were married!" she shouted, her arm shaking slightly.

William frowned and adjusted his glasses.

"Yes. For a period of approximately seventeen minutes, after which you were hit by a carriage, your mother descended into a fit of hysterics until my father saw fit to comfort her," he said icily. "...and I, apparently affected by overwork, suffered a heart attack."

"A heart attack," Grell realized that she shouldn't be smiling at such a thing, but she could hardly help herself from quipping, "I'm not surprised your heart failed after the death of your one true love."  
"Grell, if the two of us are to be perfectly blunt with one another, you hated me for upwards of seventy years, a hatred that began at our engagement and did not stop, at least as far as I could tell, until I managed to stop you from killing me."

"William, you know it was nothing personal…" Grell said, waving her arm absently, then shrugged. "Well, I suppose it was personal. After all, it was entirely your fault we had to let Thomas die…"

"You knew as well as I that it had to be done," William said, speaking rather more quietly than he had before.

"I suppose…" Grell replied. She looked down at her hands, which she had folded on her lap. "William…" she said hesitantly, rather reluctant to broach the subject once again.

"Yes, Grell?" William asked with an air of perpetual exhaustion.

"Why don't you believe me when I tell you that I love you?" she asked, twirling the chain of her glasses between two fingers.

William went quite silent for several moments and cleared his throat.

"Perhaps it is because for nearly half of the time I have known you, you stated with just as much conviction that you hated me and everything about me. Perhaps it is because you show just as much attention to every other employee here. I have told you my reasons time and time again," he said, raising his voice slightly and narrowing his eyes.

"And I continue to question them. I love you, William. I've begun to think that you don't want to accept that," Grell replied stubbornly, looking at him piercingly.

"I may not, Grell," William answered, lowering his voice again. "However, I am prepared to reason with you on this matter. I spend most of my time working, although quite frankly I dislike it. In the time I spend not working, I generally read. I am not by any means an interesting or adventurous individual. I am excessively, perhaps, bothered when you lavish your attentions upon others, although I doubt the relevance of this."

Grell sat in silence as he continued to speak.

"If you are certain that you can accept this, then I will, as you have stated before, give you a chance in this matter. I care about you. However, I will be gone tomorrow for a month, and I must be able to maintain peace of mind and know that you are not off gallivanting with human women. You must continue providing adequate remedial instruction to your assigned trainee, and I expect you to function rationally. If you are concerned that my absence will negatively affect your rationality, I can arrange for you to be given a prescription," William stated, adjusting his glasses. "Are you perfectly clear on what I have just told you?"

Grell remained silent, attempting to process this information. If she had heard him correctly (and she was almost entirely certain she had), he had told her that he was willing to pursue something with her. This was somewhat of a surprising bolt to Grell, who had operated her entire immortal life under the assumption that William resented the ground she walked on. Perhaps she had been wrong.

"Will...are you sure?" she asked hesitantly, and mentally kicked herself for questioning what was potentially the best thing that had ever happened to her.

"Yes. I can say with reasonable certainty that I have feelings for you, but whether they are as deeply running as yours I cannot say," William replied.

Grell was suddenly stricken with realization.

"You carried me out of the confinement room...and you kissed my forehead, didn't you…?" she inquired, her eyes widening slightly.

"Yes."

"I thought I was dreaming…" she said hesitantly. "But it was you after all…"

"Yes," William said again, frowning slightly and turning his head aside.

"Will...I promise I'll do everything you asked...it shouldn't be too much. At least, I hope not. Knoxie is impossible. He's always rather hungover and he doesn't seem to understand that one isn't supposed to hold a scythe with both hands…" she sighed, but smiled slightly. "Oh Will...I'm going to miss you."

"I believe I'll miss you as well, Grell," he turned to her and the look in his eyes softened slightly. He cleared his throat. "You should be going to bed now."

"Yes, I suppose I should," Grell stood up and hugged him tightly. William awkwardly rested his hand on her back. "I love you," she whispered.

"I know," William said quietly. Grell pulled away from him and waved slightly before she walked slowly down the hall, smiling to herself in the most ludicrously self-satisfied manner she had ever managed to muster.


	28. Red Reading

When Grell awoke the morning after her discussion with William, she became sickeningly aware that she had overslept. Soon after this realization, she realized that she was under no obligation to be on time, as her suspension would be in effect for the significant period of three months. Her sense of relief was just as quickly clouded by the sick feeling returning as she recalled that William had left early this morning for his long-term assignment, and she had completely neglected to bid him a proper farewell. She rolled out of bed.

How awful. Her hair was terribly tangled, and she noted all too late that she had neglected to braid it before bed, which was her normal habit. With a heady, dramatic sigh, she rifled around in the drawer of her bedside table for a comb. As she gradually picked her way through the tangles, she reflected upon what had transpired the night before. William was just as cold and distant as he had always been, but she had been allotted a glimpse into his mind for the first time in her life. So he had feelings for her. She vaguely recalled that he had in no way elaborated sufficiently on this admission, but she surmised that the feelings in question were of the positive variety.

She smiled. He was willing to give her a chance, as he had said. She had a month to become a rationally thinking and acting individual. At least, she thought to herself, she would become slightly more rational. For if she became too much preoccupied with order, she would be far less like herself and far more like William. While she certainly loved the man, it was best to keep their personalities separate. She assumed that it would be considered sufficiently prudent and quite an improvement if she could make it through the month without wandering off or causing physical scarring to herself or anyone in the immediate vicinity.

It was Wednesday, she realized vaguely, and the only day of the week during which she was not required to train the eye-roll inducing Ronald Knox. In that case, her day should be much more free. She could afford to stay in bed a bit longer if she did so desire to. She tossed the comb aside and flopped back down, only to abruptly raise her head again at the sound of a faint tapping at her window.

Grell turned around to see a rather dignified carrier pigeon standing on her window ledge. She was rather taken aback, as this was the first time she had noticed a pigeon to be anything other than a rather scruffy nuisance. She opened the window, and it hopped inside, seeming almost to ruffle itself in an effort to appear more presentable. It outstretched its leg imploringly, and Grell obediently removed the small, rolled piece of paper that had been tied there. There was a note written in neat, slanted cursive that proclaimed:

Grell:

It regrettably slipped my mind to inform you of your current schedule and leave you with some important information. Please accept my apologies.

Firstly, today you are scheduled to meet with the psyche evaluator at precisely two PM. The room number is 70. Please do try not to damage anything.

Secondly, at any time during today, you will be permitted to enter the pharmacy to collect the prescription I have arranged for you. The prescription slip is attached to the back of this note. Kindly remember to take it with you.

Thirdly, I request that you please reply to this notice upon your receipt of it. Henrietta will be obliged to take your response back to me.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Sincerely,

William T. Spears, Department Manager

P.S. In case of any confusion arising from this letter, Henrietta is the pigeon.

Grell smiled to herself as she finished reading the note. It was certainly far off from a fluffy love letter, but it illustrated that William was concerned for her well-being. She appreciated this. She glanced at the pigeon, which was delicately preening its feathers on her windowsill. She chuckled slightly at the thought that William would ever have been bored enough to ponder an ideal name for a pigeon. However, his choice seemed to be a dignified enough name for a pigeon of Henrietta's stature.

She detached the prescription slip from the back of the note with some difficulty. Grell had never been particularly fond of working around staples, as she generally tried to be as careful as possible with her perfectly filed fingernails. The slip was relatively uninteresting, and she did not recognize the name of the medication. She had a bit of doubt that it would help her a great deal, but anything was better than dealing with what separation anxiety did to her.

It was really the psyche evaluation that worried her. She was prone to disliking anyone who tried to understand her and ignored everything she said. Such activity seemed all too common place among the mental health profession, as was cringingly evident in her brief tenure in solitary confinement. It seemed, she thought, that anyone in the vicinity who had heard her screaming would have been at least partially driven by sympathy to let her out. She frowned and walked over to her closet. Perhaps it would be beneficial if she read over her psyche report conducted during that time. She adjusted her glasses and removed the file from her closet drawer.

Grell walked slowly over to her bed, pulling the paperwork out of the manila folder it had been contained in. She sat down and Henrietta squawked loudly in her ear. Grell turned to the pigeon and frowned.

"What, I don't speak pigeon you know. I'm busy. Here, have some of this…" Grell mumbled, reaching under her bed and grasping a plate containing something that may have once been toast, but now appeared to be only thin strips of crust which had gone rather stale and were splotched over with bits of strawberry jam. She set the plate next to Henrietta. The pigeon shot her a look of contempt, but began pecking at the scraps of bread.

Upon reading the first page of the report, Grell realized she would most likely find nothing satisfactory. She skimmed it, catching words like irrational, shrieking, and certifiably unstable. How nice. Perhaps when she met with her evaluator they could discuss what possibly could have cause such a reaction. Certainly not being along and bound for a week without food or water, she thought with a hefty dose of sarcasm.

Her brow furrowed as she continued to read. How unflattering. It seemed that they completely neglected to see that perhaps she shouldn't be kept alone. She did notice, upon reading down further,

He seems to have an unhealthy attachment to William T. Spears.

At least one thing was right.


	29. Red With a Pigeon

It was rather late by the time Grell had run her disagreeable errands and made her way back to her room. She returned in an entirely disgruntled state that stemmed primarily from listening to drivel recited to her about mental instability. The very idea was laughable to her. Mentally unstable? Certainly not. However, to those of us with considerably less bias, it is obvious that there was at least some truth to her psych evaluations. I can ascertain that Grell, while generally meaning to do well (except in scenarios where she intended harm) occasionally strayed from the path of the morally just. She did manage to resolve the problems she caused (apart from the instances in which that responsibility fell to William), and most often learned from her errors.

She was caused the greatest amount of dissatisfaction by the pompous air of her psychiatrist, who adhered firmly to the belief that until another medical report had been run that detailed exactly why Grell should be referred to as a woman, he would not refer to her as such. Perhaps it was her constant corrections that had driven him to eventually send her from the office. She convinced herself most thoroughly that she was better off without those not inside her head trying to understand her thoughts.

The prescription pick-up could have been much worse than it was. Grell found that the woman at the counter was quite agreeable and seemed to have a penchant for discussing skin care products. She left feeling considerably better about her day, until she mistakenly ran into the corner of a wall on her way back to her apartment. This caused all of her previous frustration to manifest itself once more.

Now, as she stomped into her room, carrying a small bottle of pills in one hand and two slices of bread in the other, she was more than ready to flop onto her bed. She noticed Henrietta had nested on her pillow and groaned loudly.

"I'm certain I'd find you a very lovely bird once I got to know you properly, but as of this moment, you're not much more than a feathery carrier of disease," Grell glared at the pigeon. Henrietta glanced up at her with a bored air. Grell winced and pulled on her gloves, then cautiously reached under Henrietta and lifted her off the pillow. The pigeon made a rather miffed humming noise before flapping out of Grell's hands and perching on the windowsill.

"Oh yes...that's why you're still here, I haven't written William back yet," she said, smiling. Writing him a reply would give her something to enjoy. She reached into the drawer of her bedside table and removed a sheet of pink paper and a pen.

William my darling:

I was surprised to see that you've begun sending me love letters already. You must have missed me~

Of course I was perfectly punctual to my appointment, although the therapist was of a particularly disagreeable variety. He seemed to think that I, of all people, was unstable! Can you imagine such a discrepancy?

Your pigeon seems to find me a bit tiresome and has taken a liking to my pillow...I'm not quite certain what to do about that. I've been feeding her bread. Does she enjoy bread? Or has she simply been eating it to spare my feelings? You can tell her that I don't mind if she doesn't like it. I can get her a different kind of jam if she prefers.

I like the woman in the pharmacy. She reminds me a bit of Angie.

Is there any chance you'd be able to come back early?

Love always,

Grell

She rolled up the letter neatly and tied it to Henrietta's outstretched foot with a bit of red ribbon and opened her window. The carrier pigeon flew off into the setting sun. It reminded Grell vaguely of human romance novels. Simultaneously sentimental and done to death.

She turned away from the window and uncapped the pill bottle she had acquired earlier. The pills were of a rather dusky blue color, and she did not recognize them, nor did she see anything on the prescription paper pertaining to dosage. She shrugged and tossed one into her mouth, then stood in front of her wall mirror and began braiding her hair. She wasn't altogether sure what the time was, but she was tired and she wasn't prepared to stay up all night gazing forlornly at the moon while pondering what William was doing right that moment. No, she could only devote an hour to that. An hour, tops.

Grell grimaced as she remembered realized what was happening tomorrow. More tutoring Ronald. Followed by paperwork. All the paperwork she had missed during her absence. It was far from fair, she thought to herself, that the higher ups had insisted she complete all the work she would have been assigned had she not gone off for over a month. How was she to know about such a thing, when her casebook had been erased?

And Ronald...she frowned. It wasn't so much that he was awful to be around (she had begun to find him rather amusing, if a bit dense), but rather that he was so entirely incapable of properly wielding a death scythe that she had spent many an afternoon wishing she had a conveniently placed wall to bang her head upon. The fact that they were to train on the roof of the dispatch office made this request sadly unfulfilled. She hoped for his own incompetent sake that once he had passed the final exam, he would get himself a weapon that required the smallest possible amount of finesse.

She shook her head in frustration, tossed back her long braid and sat in front of the window. It may not have been the most productive way of coping with William's absence, but it was the only way she knew how.


	30. Red Signing

The next week of Grell's life passed with such an uneventful monotony that she was tempted to pull off her eyelids. It was torturous waiting for William to return, even though he frequently sent her notes. She was often tempted to skip training with Ronald, but when Henrietta was in the room, the pigeon would often squawk in protest as soon as the clock in Grell's room struck five thirty.

On this particular day, Grell was rather nauseatingly aware that Ronald was going to be taking his final exam. He, too, would be gone for a month, lest the assignment finished early. She groaned. Not only was he extremely unlikely to pass, if he failed it would be on her head. He was still horrendous in close combat, and she made a mental note to remind him that he really ought to take her comment about the lawnmower seriously. A bulky, graceless weapon was his best option.

She was going to miss the little twerp when he was gone. While his company was far from stimulating, he was all she had at the moment. It wasn't at all in her best interests to be alone, even if there were only a few weeks left until the return of her dearest.

:::::::::::::::::::

"Well, I haven't seen you in a while," Grell remarked, looking at Henrietta, who was rapping on the window rather animatedly. "William's been writing, hmm?"

She pulled open the window and let the pigeon in before untying a small roll of paper from its leg and reading its contents to herself.

Grell:

It is my understanding that you have not killed any humans in recent history, so for that I must commend you. I have sent out a request for you to be put on a mission tomorrow. You will be monitored, but hopefully if you can keep yourself together, your suspension may be cut short.

My assignment will be coming to a timely end tomorrow as well, so with any luck, I will be seeing you shortly after we return to the offices.

Keep your head about you and don't forget to go to the front desk so they know you're willing to be deployed.

William T. Spears, Department Manager

"Characteristically cold and with no fond inclination whatsoever," Grell commented contentedly, tossing the letter onto her bedside table and turning to pull on Angelina's coat. "My dearest William, if I see you tomorrow it shall be far too late," she laughed as she quickly ran a powdered brush over her face and flounced out the door.

She clinked down the hallway on high heels as she considered the likelihood that she would be allowed out. Her suspension was supposed to extend significantly longer than the three scant weeks it had taken up thus far. However, perhaps good behavior on her part was not something that management had anticipated.

As she reached the front desk, she cleared her throat in the most polite way she could muster. The woman seated there raised her eyebrows in something that bordered on disdain, but still managed to conceal itself behind a veil of professionalism.

"Can I help you, sir?" she inquired pointedly. Grell rolled her eyes in annoyance. Perhaps she should be used to this sort of greeting by now, but it never failed to stab her just a bit, somewhere she couldn't reach.

"You can begin by calling me ma'am...and you can finish by telling me if I'm going to be deployed tomorrow," Grell replied icily.

The woman ignored the first request and turned to a stack of papers which she began thumbing through.

"The request has been processed and approved on the condition that you wear a tracking bracelet around your ankle and stay in the company of another dispatch officer," she stated, handing a form to Grell. "Sign this to acknowledge that you accept those conditions, then make sure that you keep this on…" she handed Grell a tracking bracelet wrapped securely in plastic. "...for at least five hours before the mission start time so that we can establish the bracelet's full functionality."

Grell pulled the paper towards her and scanned it briefly, then groaned internally.

"Is this right? Phantomhive manor? You're absolutely positive?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at the form.

"Yes, of course it's right. We don't make mistakes in this department," the woman replied rather distastefully.

"Fine…" Grell muttered, signing her name with a flourish. Ciel was quite possibly the individual she wanted to see least at the moment, though Sebastian was close second. The last thing she needed was to have her memories of Angelina dragged up and twisted around by a short little brat. Perhaps if the assignment was a big enough bloodbath, Ciel would end up dying. That cheerful thought was enough to get her through. There was also the chance that she would be given the opportunity to exact a bit of revenge on Sebastian for breaking her nose and tossing her about most unkindly.

"Do you know who they're sending me out with?" she asked with a touch of trepidation. No matter who it was, she was certain there would be something to object about. Unless Ronald had managed to finish his final assignment early, there was no one she was willing to spend all day with.

"Alan Humphries. You need to date this, too," the woman added, shoving the paper back to Grell.

"It's the twelfth, isn't it?" she asked absently.

"No, the eleventh," the woman corrected, and Grell scribbled out the date and rewrote it.

Alan Humphries was at least one of the better options. Grell was looking forward to this assignment more and more. The chance to get out was of paramount importance to her, as she dearly missed being able to travel properly. Jumping about on the roof of the offices while Ronald tried and failed to hit her simply didn't do it. Humphries was one of the more quiet officers, and Grell could not recall a specific instance during which Humphries had intentionally made an objectionable statement. Whether this was because he was of sounder mind than the rest of his colleagues, or because he simply didn't speak loudly or frequently enough to be noticed, Grell didn't care. It meant that she wouldn't have to suffer through abuse and that was satisfactory to her.

She turned away and, grasping the plastic wrapped ankle bracelet in her hand, clinked her heels back to her room.


	31. Red With a Comrade

The tracking bracelet was not exactly uncomfortable, but nor was it desirable. Grell regarded it with something of a passive dislike from the moment it had clicked onto her ankle. It slightly threw off her balance as she walked around her bedroom in preparation for the assignment. She had been looking forward to this before she had gone down to the front desk for her distant exchange of conversation with the female desk worker.

As Grell began to apply rouge to her lips and cheeks, she was interrupted by a rather meek knock on her door. She was taken by surprise and one of her cheeks ended up slightly redder than the other. She cursed and swished over to the door, throwing it open to reveal a rather short, quiet-looking young man with brown hair in a state of perpetual disarray, as though he had tried to comb it but had only succeeded in pulling it down over his forehead slightly more than it would have appeared otherwise.

"You're Humphries, aren't you?" Grell asked, narrowing her eyes slightly. She was characteristically wary of anyone in a position of authority, as over time she had learned that anyone in such a position was unlikely to enjoy her company.

"Yes, and...you're Miss Sutcliff, aren't you?" he asked, paling slightly as Grell looked him up and down.

Humphries had indeed called her "Miss", which was certainly several points in his favor under any circumstances. He didn't appear to be the sort who would lull her into a state of false security. After considering the matter quickly for several seconds, she brightened considerably and responded.

"Grell. Please call me Grell," she said, smiling as brightly as she was capable of doing without inspiring fear. The result was still rather grotesque, which Grell was sadly aware of, but Humphries seemed willing to smile weakly in response and refrain from making a comment.

"Sure," he said, nodding rather uncertainly. "At any rate, I came to tell you that it's time to go. Are you about ready?"

"Yes, yes I am. Ordinarily if someone had come into my room and told me to hurry myself, I would have run them through, but you're more agreeable than others in your position, so off we go!" Grell said happily, and with that, she swished past Humphries and out the door of her room.

Humphries trailed behind her, attempting to keep up with her quick pace.

"Now, I know relatively nothing about you, but it seems that you know a sufficient amount about me. What's your first name? Is it Alan? I've seen you before," Grell said, speaking rather quickly.

"Yes, I'm Alan," he said, still struggling to keep up with her.

"Alan. Well. You seem quite pleasant. Just out of curiosity, why aren't you calling me a man like the rest of the dolts in your department?" Grell asked, genuinely intrigued by Alan's courtesy.

"I suppose it's because you're really not, are you? It wouldn't exactly be fair," Alan shrugged, breathing rather heavily. Grell smiled. Clearly this was someone who didn't go out on enough field assignments.

"Thank you. I wish that wasn't quite so difficult for everyone else to understand," Grell sighed rather half-heartedly. She shook her head abruptly and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "So! What's your story?"

"My...story? I don't have a story," Alan shrugged.

"Of course you do, don't be ridiculous. I have a story. It's not a very good one, but it's a story. You've got some story," Grell glanced at him.

"Well...I was a boring human. I enjoyed math. I still do, as a matter of fact. There's not much opportunity for it here, but it makes sense to me. I guess...I wanted to be immortal because I didn't have a particularly interesting human life. I was sick a lot, you know? That's how I died," he said matter-of-factly. "Pneumonia. I have weak lungs."

Grell immediately felt rather guilty for considering that Alan was out of shape based on his heavy breathing.

"Not to mention," Alan continued. "...I didn't have much chance of being happy as a human. It was well over a hundred years ago, and with me being entirely queer, it wasn't exactly my ideal environment."

"I can certainly sympathize with that. Thank goodness my parents at least raised me female after I insisted upon it...still. I wasn't exactly in the best of situations," Grell sighed dramatically and plucked at the end of a strand of hair. They were nearly to the door by now.

"It's not any better here, is it?" Alan asked, and Grell was touched by the level of concern in his voice.

"Not really...but I can't complain. There are some pleasant people here. The woman at the pharmacy is lovely. I don't know her name, but she's very agreeable. You seem quite all right. Ronald Knox is better than most. William...ah, I do love William. He's coming back soon, you know. I've missed him…" Grell smiled to herself. William. She would see him soon. With any luck he would be glad that she was no longer in a state of depression or insanity.

"Mr. Spears always struck me as a stick-up-the-arse type," Alan responded curiously.

"Oh, he most certainly is," Grell nodded emphatically and chuckled. "He does have some redeeming qualities that make up for that…"

Alan smiled.

"Everyone tells me that you're terrifying, but I honestly don't see it…" he said, laughing slightly.

"Sweetheart, that's just because you haven't seen me screaming and covered in the blood of my enemies yet. But don't worry. You won't have to wait much longer for that," Grell laughed rather wildly and flung open the main doors of the dispatch office, racing outside and jumping up into the air. The feeling of being properly outside was exhilarating. Finally she could actually jump and move farther than the rooftop. She glanced back at Alan's deeply concerned expression and laughed until her heart was completely devoid of pain.


	32. Red Struggling

The pair arrived without much difficulty at the Phantomhive mansion. Grell surveyed the grounds with some degree of surprise. She wasn't one for paying attention to insignificant things like cleanliness, but she was fairly certain that walls had not been crumbling at the time of her last visit. The garden was altogether dilapidated, and for the love of death was all of that blood from one person? Grell was taken aback by the state of it. The list of dead had made it seem like a bloodbath, certainly, but the sight of all that red...Grell was becoming rather transfixed.

"Miss Sutcliff? Are you alright?" Alan asked, snapping her out of her reverie. Grell shook her head sharply.

"Yes, yes, I'm...fine…" she said, trailing off slightly. She couldn't remember if she had taken her medication. She felt rather ill. Red. It really was such a lot of red. She stuck a gloved hand into her pocket and pulled out the bottle containing her pills. She popped one of them into her mouth and swallowed. Even if she had already taken one, she wasn't about to take any risks. Snapping was the last thing she wanted to happen on her first day back on the field.

"Well, we should probably head in there, if you're ready," Alan said rather hesitantly. "We've got quite a few souls to collect and it looks like we missed most of the action. I don't think there are any demons around, so we should be mostly safe."

"Yes, I'm quite certain we're alone. If he was here, I'm sure he would have popped out by now," Grell said bitterly. Sebastian's presence was something she had almost certainly counted on. She half-hoped that he would be there. A large part of her was still itching for retribution at the way he had mangled her. Perhaps it was best to save that for another time. It wouldn't be convenient to engage in combat with a demon on her first day back, especially as she was adamantly trying to remain on management's good side.

"Pardon?" Alan asked rather curiously as they approached the beaten-in door of the manor.

"Just a demon I've had a bit of a grapple with in the past," Grell waved her hand dismissively as they stepped inside.

The main hall was inordinately dim for the time of day, and for a split second Grell wondered why, but then she noticed that the windows had all been entirely blackened by fire damage was quite extensive across the rest of the hall as well.

"It's going to be a bit of work trying to find the corpses if the whole place is burned like this," Alan remarked quietly, evidently taking in the scene. He stepped cautiously across the hall. "I suppose this is where all that blood in the garden came from."

Grell was about to open her mouth and question how something on the inside of the house could have been the cause of what was a veritable pond of blood on the front lawn when her expression instead fell into a silent oh of understanding. The brick wall had been smashed in with such force that the inordinately large body of a man had been essentially flattened and was now lying in a pool of red that extended out to the garden. Grell stepped rather gingerly around the corpse and summoned her chainsaw with as much of a flourish as she could muster.

She plunged it into the body and watched as the cinematic record swirled out, illuminating the darkened room. She followed the course of this man's life, from his days living on the streets of London and into his time spent with what appeared to be a traveling circus. Insignificant. He would leave no impact on the world. With that, she cut it off at the end and let him lie there, then turned to walk into the kitchen farther down.

"You can go about this so...unemotionally," Alan said in something that Grell wasn't sure constituted admiration or fear.

"I wouldn't say that," she muttered darkly in response. There were still deaths she hadn't gotten over. There were still certain types of human soul she couldn't stand reaping. As she turned the corner, she was met with yet another unpleasant surprise. The kitchen, and indeed what appeared to be the entire west wing of the manor, had been thoroughly demolished.

"There's still another soul out here somewhere…" Alan remarked hollowly. He seemed rather odd, and Grell had half a mind to question his change in demeanor before he jumped and landed near one of the larger piles of fallen debris. She saw the swirl of a cinematic record appear over his head and turned to the inner courtyard, jumping over the wall still in place. There she saw yet another horrifying scene. The body of a young girl lay sprawled over the cobblestones, blood pooling from a wound in her head. Grell's heart thumped hard in her chest.

She was shaking slightly on her feet, and she felt that somehow it wouldn't be right to use her chainsaw for this. She reached with fumbling fingers into her coat pocket and pulled out a small scrap of steel. She made a tiny cut along the top of the girl's hand and watched as the cinematic record filtered through almost painfully slowly. Grell bit her lip, feeling a trickle of blood run down her chin as her teeth cut through flesh while she watched the girl's life.

Wendy. Her name was Wendy. She'd lived on the streets as well, with the large man who had lain sprawled amongst brick remains. She too had joined the circus with her brother. Her twin brother. Peter. Her last living memory was the picture of his horrified face when he watched a bullet smash through the side of her head. Grell fought to bite back tears that were struggling to escape the confines of her eyes. It was unfair. Drastically unfair. To die so young, and to know so little of the world. To die at all, in such a wretchedly mechanical way.

She was interrupted from her thoughts by Alan, who cleared his throat from behind her.

"Grell...we need to keep moving," he said tightly, and Grell sensed that he hadn't exactly had a pleasant experience with his charge.

"Yes...yes of course…" she replied, rather dazed by the force she was using to prevent her tears from escaping. She let the cinematic record end and closed her eyes as she accepted the death of the girl on the ground. She stood up shakily. Alan had a rather dark look on his face.

"Sometimes I regret immortality," he said stiffly. "It's too painful...seeing all this death everywhere I go. These were real people, living real lives. I don't understand how so many of the others can treat it like it's nothing more than good business."

"I feel the same way," Grell replied rather quietly. "Especially when children die. It...it hurts. And her…" Grell gestured to the girl on the ground, losing her willpower slightly and allowing a tear to fall down her cheeks. "She had...people who loved her...a brother...a life. She was so young…" She felt more tears winding their way down her cheeks. "I always wanted a child...a little girl."

Alan rather awkwardly reached out and patted her shoulder. Grell threw aside her inhibitions and pulled him into a hug. He reciprocated thankfully, and they stood there for a moment.

"Grell," Alan broke the silence. "We really do need to keep moving. There are still two more souls here."

Grell pulled back and wiped at her eyes, hoping that her eye makeup hadn't smudged.

"Alright...let's see…" she opened her casebook and flipped through to the most recent visible pages. She saw a name flash by her eyes that she remembered from Wendy's cinematic record. Peter. "Alan...if...if it's not too much trouble…"

"I'll take the boy," Alan said immediately, pulling out his scythe and jumping back into the stable part of the manor. Grell gave a sigh of relief. She wouldn't have been able to bear seeing two children die in the same afternoon. She turned back to the flame-damaged manor and took a deep breath. It wasn't preferable to see anyone die, but this was a particularly painful lot.

She reached the foyer and glanced around. It was difficult to tell where anything was, or indeed what anything had been. Most of the furnishings had been burnt and reduced to black masses. She walked around rather cautiously until her heel caught on something. A white knit scarf. She picked it up and examined the scorch marks before setting it down on the nearby remains of a chair.

She pulled aside a scorched tapestry and her breath caught in her throat. The body of a woman was slumped over behind it, and the flesh of one of her legs was black and red with burns. Her other leg, upon further inspection, was a prosthetic of a silky white china. Even given the extreme severity of the burns on her leg, it was not nearly enough to have killed her. Grell checked the death roster. The woman had died of smoke inhalation. It made sense, given her position behind the tapestry. Grell took a deep breath and summoned her chainsaw before slicing it across the woman's body. The record swirled out and Grell felt the tears reemerge in her eyes.

The woman went by the name Beast. It was a name that had been given to her by an orange-haired man who always seemed to be smiling. He was called Joker, and based on what Grell could ascertain, Beast had been by his side since her childhood, which also began in the slums of London and finished in the circus. She loved him, Grell could feel it pulsating through the record. She watched as Beast, in something of an act of frustration, sought comfort in the company of a demon, a demon Grell recognized all too well. Grell blocked this from her mind, she didn't want to find out that this woman had been harmed.

The last hour of Beast's life was one of the worst Grell had seen in her time as a reaper. She watched as a young man, presumably the soul Alan had reaped from the remains of the kitchen, was shot repeatedly in a flurry of bullets and died in Beast's arms. She watched as Beast abandoned his body and raced to escape her pursuers, a sniper and a man Grell recognized as one of the Phantomhive servants. The knit scarf fell from Beast's shoulders and onto the floor, where Grell had nearly tripped on it. She clambered behind the tapestry until the smoke of the room overwhelmed her and she fainted, before her lungs eventually ceased to function. The thoughts that Grell saw in the record as Beast died were hazy, but the orange-haired man seemed to flicker frequently before her eyes.

Grell cut off the record and let Beast finish her life peacefully. She swallowed. She was not going to cry again. She would not cry. She was an agent of death. William's words echoed in her head, flowing with statements of maintaining composure and quietude. She let out a shaking sob and backed out of the room quickly. She felt something fall from her coat, but she wasn't inclined to turn around and face Beast's body again.

She raced out of the room and down the hall before leaping out of the front doorway and slumping onto the ground. Perhaps it had been too early for her to come back after suspension. She didn't think those pills of hers had been helping, because she was still tempted to pull her heart out of her chest.


	33. Red Understanding

It was for several minutes that Grell sat slumped over by the door frame of the now-decrepit manor as she waited for Alan to return from inside. She was rather worse for wear, as her thoughts repeatedly drifted to Beast and Wendy. It didn’t seem entirely fair to her that they were slated to die without question, without exception, and without mercy of any sort. This was a concept that had repeatedly scratched its way around inside her head since she had first began her career. She mused that it was altogether too godlike for one individual to be entrusted with the decision of whether or not human lives were worthwhile. Grell then smiled to herself, a rather sad, dark smile, as she realized that “godlike” was without doubt the perfect word for it. She was a goddess with the highest possible power over humans, and yet, as she sat there in the shadows mulling over her life, she still felt like the girl who had smashed apart her own reflection in a store window over a hundred and fifty years ago. 

Alone. Alone and misplaced in a world that knew nothing about her. She considered that this was rather vain of her, to expect anyone to understand her, or indeed to expect anyone to want to understand her. Still, there was a sickening, twisting feeling somewhere in her chest. She wanted to be understood. She recalled Angelina with a nauseated feeling in the pit of her stomach. Angelina had understood her, and understood her far too well. The bloodlust, the rejection, the conflict of life and death. Perhaps it was better if no one ever understood her again. The last time it had happened it had all ended so very, very wrong. 

She was pulled from her thoughts by the reemergence of Alan. He walked toward her with a dark look on his face, that immediately signaled to Grell that their mission was complete. 

“Was he…?” Grell asked hesitantly, trying to gauge his reaction. 

“Shot. Shot in the head. Same as his sister,” Alan replied rather tightly. 

Grell fell silent after that. She knew it was against the laws of the reapers to act with anything other than professional indifference, but it seemed so   
unfair. Children should never have to die, and even if...even if it had to happen, it should be something painless and peaceful. 

The two reapers made their way back to the headquarters rather more slowly and silently than they had arrived. It was with a far lesser amount of excitement that Grell jumped across the rooftops. She felt tired. She hadn’t felt so tired since solitary confinement. There was something different about this particular outing. The red still hit her deeply somewhere in the back of her mind, but the context was different somehow. She didn’t feel like this session of reaping had done anything other than rip a jagged hole across her heart. 

They approached the front doors of the dispatch slowly. 

“Well, ready to go back in?” Alan asked, stretching his arms over his head. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Grell mumbled, yawning. She wanted nothing more than to lay down in her room and forget everything that had happened. She shoved open the door and walked in, the click of her high heels echoing across the white marble floors. Alan walked more quickly to catch up to her. 

“I have to say this now,” Alan said, breathing rather heavily. Grell slowed down and turned to him. 

“Hmm?” 

“You’re not as terrifying as I’d expected,” Alan said quietly. “You’re real. I know that doesn’t sound like it makes much sense, but...you’re real. I guess I wasn’t really expecting you to be, because when others talk about you, they tend to--” 

“Sutcliff!” a rather harsh voice shouted from across the room. 

Grell turned around almost painfully to see Eric Slingby walking towards her. 

“What are you doing around Alan? In case you didn’t get the message already, he’s not interested,” he said, smirking slightly. “Why don’t you stop bothering him and head back to your room, maybe give yourself a haircut so you’ll look normal.” 

“Eric…” Alan interjected rather quietly as the pupil’s of Grell’s eyes noticeably shrank and she started to bare her teeth. 

“Wash off all that junk on your face too. You’re not a goddamn woman so stop pretending you are,” Eric continued. Grell was beginning to shake slightly. She forced herself to try to block out his voice. He was only being this way because she’d just come off a suspension. She repeated it to herself. He was only being an insufferable shit because he knew she couldn’t pick a fight without getting suspended again. 

She kept walking. 

He kept following her. 

She blocked out the sound of his voice. She could hear him getting closer until her ears picked up something that was certainly not a voice and seemed to be a surprisingly loud smack. She whipped around sharply to see that Alan had slapped Eric across the face. 

“You know, most of the time you’re a pretty good guy, but right now you’re being a real prick,” Alan said bitterly. Eric put his hands up in silent defeat and backed away. 

“You didn’t have to do that, you know. I can take care of myself,” Grell smiled slightly as she turned to Alan. 

“Not when you’re just off a suspension you can’t,” Alan admonished. “Don’t let him get to you.” 

“Oh, I don’t. I’m faaaar too used to it by now,” Grell chuckled slightly. “It’s just a bit of a nuisance when they start following me.” 

“I wish management would do something about this kind of thing,” Alan frowned. “I swear that most of these people aren’t all bad, I mean, Eric is usually a pretty nice guy, it’s just--” 

“I know,” Grell said quietly. She did know. She knew that if she’d been born in the right body, this wouldn’t be a problem for her. She’d have more people she could trust. She most likely wouldn’t have ever died in the first place. She wouldn’t be here now. She knew that. “Thank you, Alan, but I really should be going now. It’s been a long day.” 

Alan nodded and looked as though he was going to say something, but he simply gave a weak smile and turned away as Grell walked back down the hallway that led to her room. 

Grell vaguely recalled, as she was walking, that William’s mission end date was either today or tomorrow, but she was too tired and generally sick of the world to remember which it was, or drag herself into his room to check. She reached her room and pushed open the door, only to be greeted by something she hadn’t expected at all. 

William was there. William was in her room. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, reading the contents of some work binder while Henrietta the pigeon preened herself on Grell’s bedside table. 

“W-will? What are you doing in here?” Grell asked, rather uncharacteristically taken aback. A wide smile spread across her face. 

William glanced up at her and the slightest hint of a smile found its way onto his face. 

“I’ve just been reviewing your evaluation, and it looks like you’re doing satisfactorily so far. No unnecessary deaths. No missed appointments. Your mission today was completed successfully. And you’ve picked up your prescriptions on time. I didn’t think I’d be saying this, but...good job, Grell,” he said, adjusting his glasses. 

Grell felt as though she had received an enormous shot of adrenaline that somehow managed to erase every hint of distress and exhaustion she had been feeling. She leapt onto her bed and tackled hugged William, knocking him onto his back. He laid there rather stiffly and silently for several seconds before awkwardly resting one of his hands on the back on Grell’s neck. 

“Thank you, William,” Grell whispered, curling up next to him. 

“You haven’t changed in a month,” William remarked. “I was rather worried that being forced to obey regulations would quell your spirits a bit, but I   
see that’s not the case.”

“Of course not,” Grell smiled, sitting up. “I missed you so much, Will..”

“It pains me to say this, because I’ve been consciously trying to deny it, but...I missed you as well,” he replied, sighing. 

“I love you.”

“I know.”


	34. Red Content

I feel the need to once again interject, despite it being quite a long time since I last did so, because this is the point at which I have a clearer perspective of the events as they occurred. Grell, as it so happened, was released from any restrictions imposed upon her thanks to her sufficient performance when she returned to fieldwork and a few well-placed requests. She was more than ecstatic to be rid of the tracking bracelet, as shortly after expressing her happiness that William had returned, she had jumped into a tirade about how it threw off her balance and was going to leave bruises on her skin. He had given a tsking sort of laugh and made a point to call in a few favors and announce that he would take personal responsibility if she did anything that turned out to be in violation of dispatch rules. 

“You know, Will,” Grell told him as they lay there on her bed. “I never would have expected you to wait for me here. I thought I’d have to go looking for you.” 

“You should know that you never have to go looking for me,” William responded rather dryly. “You’re bound to always get yourself into trouble, so I’ve learned to try to stay one step ahead of you.” 

Grell smiled up at the ceiling. 

“I always knew you cared about me. I didn’t always like it. When you cut off my casebook so I stopped receiving information I didn’t like it. But I knew it was you. You keep trying to deny it, but I know you care,” she said quietly. 

William didn’t respond for several seconds. 

“I love you,” he said. It was barely audible, but there it was. Grell felt something swelling in her chest. She hadn’t been expecting that. She’d expected a small noise of acknowledgement somewhere along the lines of a hmm or a grunt, but not that. She rolled over and looked at him. He was staring at the ceiling with a great deal of focus, and his eyes were narrowed in a manner she could only describe as stubborn. His face seemed to have flushed a light shade of pink. 

“Will,” Grell said quietly, smiling. “I know.” 

He turned to look at her with mild annoyance and a bit of apprehension. A faint smile graced his face. He glanced around and attempted to awkwardly scoot closer to her, as though he wasn’t entirely certain what he was doing. Grell felt, in that moment, more endeared to him than she ever had before, perhaps because she was seeing him in a rather more…human light. He was awkward and inexperienced, at least as much as she was. How odd and somehow refreshing it was to see that someone so cool, so collected, so professional, had been brought to this level. This undeniably human level that was comprised of nothing but emotion, and she had brought him there. He leaned in closer to her and Grell instinctively closed her eyes. 

He kissed her. It was soft, quick, and over sooner than she would have liked, but he had kissed her. Her entire body seemed to tense up and warm. She hadn’t expected that, really. It was so honest, too. There had been no bitterness, no avoidance, no questioning. She felt complete. It was not her first kiss with William, and she was certain it would not be her last, but she was entirely positive with every fiber of her being that it would be the best. She opened her eyes and saw yellow-green staring back at her. 

“You’re crying,” he remarked. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?” 

Grell reached up hesitantly to touch underneath her eye. Wet. She was crying. She wasn’t entirely certain why. Perhaps all of the warmth inside her had to come flooding out some way. 

“No...it was...I mean...I’m happy. I’m crying because I’m...happy,” she said slowly, the realization sinking into her. She hadn’t been aware that it was possible, to cry from happiness. For the past hundred and fifty years there had been so little besides sadness and loss and abandonment and rejection, and it felt that in the last few minutes, all of that was gone. It didn’t matter anymore, because here he was, next to her, telling her that she was crying. She wasn’t crying because of him, or because of anyone other than herself, for that matter. She was crying because she was happy. 

William was silent as he gazed at her in a way that almost made Grell cry all over again. 

“It’s strange…” she said slowly, attempting to place her thoughts in the right order. “I’ve never really felt like I belonged anywhere before. But now...it’s different. I know that you actually care about me, and it feels like everything that happened doesn’t matter so much anymore. I mean...it’s still important because all of that brought me here today, but...now I feel like I belong because there’s someone who really, honestly wants me around. I’m sorry, I just…” 

“Don’t apologize. Don’t apologize for talking. Honestly, Grell, I want to hear you. I want to know what you’re thinking. I care,” William said, grasping her by the shoulders and pulling her closer to him. “I’ll always care.” 

“Me too…” Grell replied softly. “Me too…” She leaned into the nape of his neck and sighed. She half-thought she would wake up and find that this had been a dream. She’d had similar dreams many times and it wouldn’t surprise her, but somehow...this felt blessedly more real. She drifted off to sleep, consoled by the fact that this was really happening to her. Perfect. That was how her life felt at that moment, despite everything. Perfect.


End file.
